Ildera's Tale
by Ipsissimus
Summary: The story of an avariel, starting in Candlekeep. What can happen on a quest for vengeance?
1. Mirtul 6

I realized _right before_ returning to internet-free land that I posted the wrong chapter 1! Here's the right version.

* * *

Ildera's Journal

_*******_

If you're reading this, put my journal back where it belongs. This means _you_, Imoen!

P.S. I prepared explosive runes this morning.

_*******_

_Mirtul 6 1368, Candlekeep_

Someone tried to kill me today. I was walking through that garden west of the library, and a man named Shank said that I was his way out of the gutter, then drew a sword and attacked me. I didn't know what to do, so I just kept blocking with my quarterstaff. He just got annoyed and started attacking faster, so I flew off. I think the Watchers dragged him away to see what he was doing there. Then, near the temple of Oghma, _someone else_ attacked me. He announced that he was "Carbos," and that he was a much—cooler, I think he said—assassin than that incompetent Shank. I noticed that he had "Shank was here" painted on his back. I wonder how he made it even that far as a thief. Fortunately, this time I had more of a warning and flew off before he could attack me, and the Watchers were even faster that time. Still, twice in one day... Neither was particularly skilled, luckily for me. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure I'd be dead already. As it is, I was far too close to being killed. I know that someday, I will enter Arvandor, but—not yet.

_

* * *

More_ errands today! Fetching Hull's sword, getting a potion for Arabelle, finding Phlydia's book, retrieving a scroll from Tethtoril—and I somehow managed to write this without reusing any words. How many synonyms for "go get me something" are there? I think the worst part was killing rats for Reevor. Do you have any idea how _fast_ those little demon-spawn move? I couldn't hit them with my crossbow, so I switched to staff. The storeroom was a mess after I finished, but at least the rats were gone. Though, on second thoughts, they were still there—the rat bits are going to be a nightmare for that dwarf to clean. But the stores are now safe, for the rodent menace has been defeated. ...And that was an outstandingly bad attempt at a joke, even for me.

* * *

After _that_ little fiasco, I had to get more crossbow bolts, and on the way there, Jondalar told me to get extra. I think that almost everyone in the keep stopped me to run an errand. With the exceptions of Gorion and Imoen. And Ulraunt. The Keeper hates me for some reason. Don't think that he hired the assassins, though. The fact that I even considered this is a sign that I'm turning paranoid... Well, at least I got a little gold from all these little tasks. And Firebead Elvenhair cast Protection from Evil on me. Nice of him, but it makes me wonder what he thinks I'll be facing.

* * *

Tethtoril mentioned that Gorion wanted to see me, so I went to find him. Imoen stopped to talk to me, and mentioned that she saw a letter on his desk, something about leaving. She apparently hadn't meant to mention it—that's an awkward phrase—and immediately denied having said anything about any letter, and insisted that she had never sneaked into my father's room.

Um...right. Didn't know you worshiped Leira, Imoen.

* * *

Gorion said something odd. Apparently, Candlekeep is no longer safe for me. Safe from—what? Or who? Something to do with Shank and Carbos, I think. When I told him about the would-be assassins, he muttered something about "I have delayed too long already." I almost wish that I wasn't naturally inquisitive. At least these stupid puzzles wouldn't be driving me insane. I just need to pack some things first. Not that I really know what to bring—I've barely ever left the Keep! I've only been outside a handful of times, and even then I wasn't really supposed to. Then again, how are they supposed to stop a girl with wings?

I suppose I should bring my gear—crossbow, staff, and so on. Probably a spare set of clothes, and... I don't know what else. I should probably bring some spare bolts as well, and maybe a book or two if I have room. I was supposed to read them back in Ches, but didn't get around to it, so I think I'll bring that book on the Descent of the Drow and the _History of the Dead Three_. I wish I could bring something from the library as well, but I don't know how long we'll be gone. Well, I'm think that I'm packed, so I should probably get going. Maybe I should check if the temple of Oghma sells healing potions? I think I have enough.

* * *

Got some spare bolts and a healing potion. I don't even know why I'm writing this down, except to put off leaving. Candlekeep is my _home_! It's the only home I've ever known. I know that I'm not related to them, but Gorion's almost a father, and Imoen is almost my sister. I really don't want to leave, but I know I have to. I'm going to miss this place. I probably won't come back here, and I can't even say goodbye. Gorion said that we need to be out of here as quietly as possible, so I couldn't even tell Immy that I was leaving. I think she might have guessed from that letter she saw, though. I should stop writing now, though. I need to pack my writing things away.


	2. Mirtul 7

_On the Coast Way, nighttime_

I...don't think I'm going to sleep well for a while. Glowing yellow eyes, spiked armor...a demonic hedgehog after a growth spell? I can hear myself giggling about that, and it sounds slightly hysterical. That, and the sharp smell of acid, and the stench of burning flesh—an ogre's, or mine? A woman cast a flame arrow at me. It still hurts, but I don't want to waste a healing potion. I can still see blood...but I don't know whose it is. Gorion made me leave. He cast a Spook spell at me, and it was like something was chasing me and I couldn't fly fast enough. Worse, I don't even know where I went, so I'm basically stuck—it's too dark to go looking for Gorion now. I'm just sitting in a yew tree, writing. Stupid...useless... I need to stop this, or I'll tear my paper. I'm so tired... Maybe things will seem better in the morning. I certainly know what Gorion was worried about now...

_

* * *

7 Mirtul 1368, western Coast Way_

I didn't fall off during the night, and I'm feeling somewhat more functional now, so that's good. My shoulder still hurts, though.

Another piece of good news—Imoen's here, because she _followed _me, of all things! I don't know whether to be annoyed or happy at seeing her again, but in any case it's too late—she wouldn't be allowed back in. So I guess she's staying. She has a wand of magic missiles, too—I wonder where she stole that. I hope that none of Winthrop's guests needed that. She admitted to sneaking into Gorion's room and reading that mysterious letter, though.

Bad news as well. Horrible, in fact. The worst I could possibly get: Gorion is dead. Imoen saw the whole thing, and she says that the man in spiky armor ran him through, after Gorion took out the two ogres and put the woman to sleep. I don't know what to do now... Imoen and I are going to the site of the battle to find the letter and anything else useful. After that, I have no idea what we'll do. We can't go back to Candlekeep—they won't let us in without either a large amount of gold or a valuable book, neither of which we have. There's Gorion's friends at the Friendly Arm, though—Khalid and Jaheira. Imoen and I pooled our resources and discovered that we have 71 gold, an oil of speed, wand of missiles, 76 arrows, 54 bolts, a quarterstaff, and five healing potions. It would have been six, but Imoen made me drink one. Lovely. Now we're stuck in the middle of nowhere, no idea where to go, with basically nothing. I hope nothing attacks us...but first things first. We need to get back to those stone circles first.

_

* * *

Near the stone circles_

It's disgusting. The crows were already picking at the corpses when we showed up. Fortunately, just the ogres'—apparently they like it well done? No, that was a horrible joke, and I need to stop right here.

Found the letter. It looks like it might be important, so I'm going to keep it and copy it in here, just in case. So, here it is:

_My friend Gorion,  
Please forgive the abruptness with which I now write, but time is short and there is much to be done. What we have long feared may soon come to pass, though not in the manner foretold, and certainly not in the proper time frame. As we both know, forecasting these events has proved increasingly difficult, leaving little option other than a leap of faith. We have done what we can for those in thy care, but the time nears when we must step back and let matters take what course they will. We have, perhaps, been a touch too sheltering to this point.  
Despite my desire to remain neutral to this matter, I could not, in good conscience, let events proceed without some measure of warning. The other side will move very soon, and I urge thee to leave __ Candlekeep this very night, if possible. The darkness may seem equally threatening, but a moving target is much harder to hit, regardless of how sparse the cover. A fighting chance is all that can be asked for at this point.  
Should anything go awry, do not hesitate to seek aid from travelers along the way. I do not need to remind thee that it is a dangerous land, even without our current concerns, and a party is stronger than an individual in all respects. Should additional assistance be required, I understand that Jaheira and Khalid are currently at the Friendly Arm Inn. They know little of what has passed, but they are ever thy friends and will no doubt help however they can.  
Luck be with us all.  
I'm getting to old for this.  
-E  
_...And now my hand is cramping up. I have to say, the grammar of this "E" leaves something to be desired. And a "desire to remain neutral?!" Much appreciated, E! After all, it's my life at stake, not theirs. I agree with one thing, though. I probably have been too sheltered, growing up in a library.

We also found a dagger, some gold, and a couple scrolls, bringing our gold pool up to...89. I say _found_, but looting bodies leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It feels just...wrong. What feels even worse is that we're about to go off and leave Gorion to the crows. There's nothing we can do, but I want to do _something!_ At least we found a map as well. The Friendly Arm isn't far, east along the Coast Way and then north, and the map has signposts labeled. I guess we should be going, then.

I want to write something poetic and eloquent in honor of the man who took me in. But I can't. I don't have the words for it, and whatever I write feels pathetic and inadequate. It isn't enough. So I'll write something simple: I'll miss you, Gorion, and I wish that this hadn't happened. As I said—inadequate.

* * *

Ran into a group of gibberlings today. At least, I'm assuming that they were gibberlings. They were singing something. I think it went "We are the Gibberlings Three/As merry a band as you ever did see." Utter gibberish. Oddly, they didn't even attack us. No, instead we were attacked not once but _twice_ by wolves. I tried to get them to leave us alone—at Imoen's suggestion, because "that's the ranger-y thing to do," but it didn't work. We were lucky and got in some good shots before the wolves could do any damage. And only now have I realized just how cut off from the world I've been...

* * *

Met two weirdos on the road—a crazy necromancer with tattooes all over his face and a halfling thief, Xzar and Montaron. The mage kept calling the thief "Monty," which he didn't like much. They offered us healing potions if we'd go to Nashkel with them, but... To tell the truth, they were a little unnerving. All right, more than a little. The halfling was glaring at my legs as if he wanted to hamstring me or break my kneecaps, and the necromancer kept swatting at the air like he was killing invisible flies. Then he started twitching and babbling about "the dragons with feet like rabbits" and ran off screaming. Then he bumped into a tree. I feel vaguely dirty now.

_

* * *

Near the stone guidepost_

What is it with the Coast Way and crazy people? We met _another_ person of dubious sanity—a mage in pinkish-red robes with a silly-looking pointy hat of the same color. He asked if we were desperate or deranged. I said "desperate," but I'd like to know how he matches up to his own standards. I really don't like the way he was looking at Imoen. Plus he had something stuck in his beard—not that I want to know what it was. We're heading north now, and should be at the Friendly Arm in a few hours. I don't think I'm cut out for this. I'm tired, my feet hurt, and I'm alternating between extreme boredom and extreme anxiety.

Imoen asked me how I was doing. I told her I was doing the best I could now. She suggested that we go do something heroic—raid a dragon's cave, perhaps? She realized that that was a little overambitious, so she suggested a xvart village. I still think that we'd have trouble. I'm glad that she cares, though. It's good to know that someone does. We also ran into a woodsman, who warned us about monsters in the area. All we've seen are gibberlings and wolves, so I suppose we've been lucky. Imoen assured the man that we were heroes capable of taking care of ourselves.

* * *

A/N: Is it just me, or are most of the mages--party joinable or not--insane? And it's not just mages, oh no. I started keeping count of those of dubious sanity--there's a LOT. Also, I think I'm going to be switching between journal view and second person.

Finally, Ildera is an avariel sorceress, physically weak but with extremely intelligent and with very high dexterity.


	3. Mirtul 7 through 9

_Friendly Arm Inn (FINALLY!)_

Reached the Inn at last. The guards warned us to avoid causing trouble, so I should probably stay near Immy. Don't want any of the patrons missing their purses. It's dark now, so hopefully we'll find Khalid and Jaheira soon.

NOT AGAIN!!!! A man introduced himself as Tarnesh, asked if I was Ildera of Candlekeep, and then attacked! Imoen got lucky and hit the man's arm with an arrow. It didn't kill him, but it stopped the spell. I don't want to write this, but I feel like I should. After that, I killed him. It was so easy. All I did was load, aim, and fire, and suddenly there was a bolt through his heart and he was dead. One moment, alive and fighting; the next, collapsed on the floor. And I killed him.

To make things worse, I have a bounty on my head—300 gold. We found a letter on Tarnesh's corpse, addressed "to all those of evil intent." Someone knows who I am and wants me dead. Did I accidentally kill someone important? I have no idea _what_ is going on now, and I don't like it—obviously. Imoen found the mage's spellbook and has decided that she will become "Imoen the Magnificient, Dashing Sorceress of Candlekeep" or something like that. I hope she doesn't try to cast anything—she has no idea what she's doing. We need to find Gorion's friends before she does anything stupid.

Met Khalid and Jaheira. They're half-elves, a fighter and a druid. Khalid has a severe stutter but seems nice enough. Jaheira is...a little intimidating. She seemed like she was trying to be friendly, but seemed to be judging me against Gorion, to see how I turned out. Imoen insisted on calling her "Aunty J," which just brought an exasperated sigh. They're going to Nashkel, to investigate the recent iron crisis that seems to stem from the mines there. It's not as though Imoen and I have anywhere else to go, so we're going with them in the morning. I have a feeling that this is going to be a _very_ long trip...

_9 Mirtul 1368, Beregost_

Beregost today. Oh, yes. And Imoen fancies herself "little miss worldly," and claims that a hayseed like me should just stand back and look menacing while she does the talking. She also wants a new pink tunic, and blamed me for the unfortunate state of one of Jaheira's cooking implements. Well, what do you _expect_ when a girl with the attention span of a squirrel is cooking?

_Song of the Morning, House of Lathander_

Made a short trip to the Song of the Morning Temple. Mayor Kelddath Ormlyr informed us of a bounty on a priest of Cyric—Bassilius, I think his name was—and it's five thousand gold! Tempting, but apparently he has about a dozen undead around. I think it would have to wait. I have to say, the whole building was rather garish, with all that pink, yellow, and gold paint. Inside was far nicer looking, although that's not saying much. There were a few sirines there, singing hymns. Honestly. They have _sirines_, and they're singing hymns to the Morninglord? Why bother? Is it just to show off?

We went to one of the cheaper inns, the Jovial Juggler. An ax-wielding dwarf actually _introduced_ himself as Karlat (good thing these assassins are so incompetent) before attacking me, and the price on my head is now five hundred gold. My little journal's getting fat, with the bounty notices and letters I've stuffed in it. We decided to go to the Red Sheaf instead—rowdier but cheaper, and hopefully with no assassins.

_9 Mirtul 1368, Beregost_

We'll probably leave for Nashkel later today. Jaheira thinks we should go see what Taerom Fuiruim has to sell—apparently, "Thunderhammer" is one of the finest smiths on the Coast. Feldepost has a few good items as well, mostly trophy items that we probably can't afford. Worth checking, I suppose.

_Thunderhammer's Smithy, Feldepost's Inn_

As it turns out, we had enough for some lightly enchanted ammunition—arrows, bolts, and sling stones. Thunderhammer had more than that, though—I saw Imoen looking longingly at the Shadowmaster's armor, apparently designed for the Amnian Shadow Thief guild leaders.

We checked at Feldepost's, and discovered that we couldn't afford a thing. Oh well. Something did happen, though. Imoen and I were waiting for J and K to finish talking with Feldepost, and a man named Marl started yelling at us. It turned out that he hates adventurers because his son was killed hunting gnolls. I almost feel sorry for him, but...I don't think he wants pity from "our kind." In the end, Imoen and I bought him a drink and he quieted down. I wish I could have done something else. I don't think that he deserved what he got from life.

_Near the Burning Wizard inn_

We were offered a job by a bard called Garrick, to help his employer Silke Rosena. He offered us 300 gold, so we're off.

Met Silke. The self-proclaimed "thespian extraordinaire" lied to us, saying that she wanted "protection from Feldepost's thugs." All she wanted was for us to kill the men delivering her gem. We left her unconscious and tied up for the Fist instead. We got 400 gold, a potion of defense, and a shiny new quarterstaff for Jaheira. Garrick realized that he was out of a job, so he's joined us for now. What annoys me is that Silke hit me with a lightning bolt. Jaheira healed me, but it still hurts a bit.


	4. Mirtul 10 through 12

_Mirtul 10 1368, south of Beregost_

Fought two ogres. One of them had _three_ belts. Imoen put one on, and something really weird happened. Her hair turned blond, her eyes turned blue, her skin grew paler, and she suddenly seemed unmistakeably beautiful. I found myself wanting to describe her with truly horrendous words. For instance, her hair was not "blond," it was "the color of the last rays of the sunset painting a rippling field of wheat." Her eyes were fathomless sapphire blue, like the deepest depths of the ocean. Her skin was flawless and porcelain white...and so on. After she took it off, she was Imoen again. She told me that there was a feeling of utter stupidity, the knowledge that she was too beautiful and good to resist, and a feeling of perfection and completeness. Garrick took a look at it, and he says that it's the Girdle of Sue- or Stu-ification. He had this expression of utter horror, and didn't elaborate. He said that both Drizzt Do'Urden and Elminster Aumar had run into the item.

One of the other belts was a Girdle of Sex Change, of all things... no wonder the ogre's chest collapsed. The bard claims that it was made as a practical joke, and the jester who owned it last was executed. His victim, Duke Lobelahn, didn't appreciate the gift intended for his lover. The last one is a Girdle of Piercing. Since it's supposed to protect against arrows, Khalid's wearing it for now.

Two evil artifacts in a day, one of them cursed... Winged Mother, preserve us

Only a short note for now. _Never_ let Garrick or Imoen cook. At least we'll be in Nashkel soon. Jaheira was muttering something about how the ipecac in her pack was _not_ a spice. I hope they remember that. It's a good thing that she noticed.

_A/N: girdle of sue-ification sets charisma to 19, and makes the wearer a multiclassed druid/bard/paladin/sorcerer. It also changes all hostiles in the area to neutrals or allies._

_And woody nightshade is poisonous but not deadly._

_Mirtul 11 1368, near Nashkel_

Met a crazy hermit named Portalbendarwinden. At least, I think that was his name. He said I have a "shiny aura," whatever that means. More interestingly, this brings the number of madmen we've encountered to four: Xzar, that pointy-hatted wizard, Marl, and...this person. No, I'm not writing his name out again.

Also met a "Lord Foreshadow." Fairly typical snobby noble, mentioned Athkatla. Imoen got really excited about that, and asked if we could go there some time. Maybe once this is finished. I'd like to get the price _off_ my head before we go on vacation anywhere.

_Mirtul 12 1368, Nashkel_

Did it really take us two days to get to Nashkel? What with Garrick's singing, Imoen's pranks, and Jaheira's sharp remarks, it feels like it's been a _lot_ longer. Poor Khalid's been trying to keep the peace, and I think that even he's having trouble now.

I'm writing this sitting on my bed in the Nashkel inn. It's dark and Imoen's already asleep in the other bed, so I should probably follow her example at some point. Not yet, though. I still have a few important things to write.

Another assassin today. A cleric of Mask attacked us. At least, she mentioned the "Lord of Shadows" before attacking. The bounty's up to 600 gold! I'm a little frightened now. Not frightened as if I know something bad will happen, but terrified of the unknown. I feel like a little child afraid of the dark.

Also met with Berrun Ghastkill, mayor of Nashkel. Oddly, he's a half-elf. He knew Jaheira and, I would assume, Khalid. He told us what's been going on—the miners are afraid to work and what little ore they do produce is useless, too fragile to work. It's like it's diseased.

At the moment, I'm not too happy about the thought of entering the mines. Ghastkill warned us that a number of adventurers have disappeared in the mines, and none of them has been found. Even the miners are vanishing without trace. His sister is distraught, as her husband Joseph is among the missing.

The mayor also said that "demons" may be involved in the mines. If it were demons, I think they'd know for sure. I mean, _some_ of the miners are still alive.

A few slightly amusing events. A man mistook Garrick for the bounty hunter Greywolf. The bard seemed pleased at the attention, but annoyed that his face could be mistaken for anyone else's. Both Oublek and Garrick were rather embarrassed.

We almost literally ran into a man named Minsc—a berserker from Rasheman, of all things. He said that he was guarding his witch, Dynaheir, but she was captured by gnolls. We agreed to help him—apparently, she's in the gnoll fortress in the southwest. So we're heading there tomorrow, and to the mines after that.

We also met a wizard named Edwin Odesseiron, who wanted to hire us to kill Minsc's witch—after we'd agreed to help rescue her, no less! Since I'm pretty sure that he was a Thayvian and he was wearing red, I think he was a Red Wizard—I wonder what he was doing here. He left when Jaheira asked a few wasps to say hello.


	5. Mirtul 13 through 16

It's just occurred to me that an Avariel protagonist _is _possible. The Gibberlings 3 mod Spell Revisions makes the Planetar/Deva animations usable by the PC. Darn, now I have to go start a new BGTUTU game!

* * *

_Mirtul 13 1368_

I had a nightmare last night. I dreamed that I was in Candlekeep, and I saw a light in my old room. But as I watched, the walls shifted to block the window with bricks. Gorion was nearby, wraithlike and pale. He gestured beyond Candlekeep. Pointing where I'd have to go? It seemed clear that my old home was now closed to me. I would have to go on. A path appeared, wide and straight, seeming to promise a change for the better. I hesitated, and it disappeared. As the path dissolved, I heard a voice call, "_You will learn!_"

I woke up sweating and panicked. Imoen says that I was thrashing around half the night. I don't know about that, but something's different. I think...I can heal. With the touch of my hand, I can cure minor wounds. I don't know how I know that, and I don't know where it's from. I feel as though I am drowning, swamped by what I want to know. Ironic for one raised in a library.

_West of Nashkel_

I wish I had noticed this earlier...Minsc is...somewhat eccentric (making him the 5th so far). For a start, he relies heavily on...a hamster. He _says_ that his "Boo" is a "miniature giant space hamster," but I rather doubt that. He's also one of the first rangers I've met outside of Candlekeep. Hopefully, others of this calling are...somewhat saner.

_Mirtul 14 1368, Gnoll Fortress_

Rescued Dynaheir, after a very long and drawn-out trip there. I think I was the only one who didn't panic at the first bridge. Then again, I'm the only one with an escape route. After numerous skirmishes with gnolls, we're out of healing potions. Several had ranged weapons, and Khalid and Minsc were fighting up close, so I'm not that surprised. We'll definitely need to restock before the mines, though, so we're off to Nashkel again.

Dynaheir herself seems all right, I guess. She has a peculiar and rather archaic speech pattern, but she's definitely a competent spellcaster. A good thing, because otherwise we'd be relying on Garrick. Imoen's already started pestering the Invoker—she wants to learn the cantrips from Tarnesh's spellbook.

_Mirtul 16 1368, Nashkel Carnival_

An old librarian named Archibald gave our bard a book called "The Ultimate Compendium Of Famous Little-Known Heroes" by Saemon Schama. Garrick was quite interested, especially in the bard Myr'Cutio. Apparently, he _was_ a half-elf, but is now undead, and is near the ruins of the school of Ulcaster. Lovely. Maybe later, then.

Also discovered crazy person #6—a man named Zordral. He was threatening a woman named Bentha, who he claimed was a witch. Dynaheir pointed out that Zordral himself was a mage, and added that he was a hypocrite of dubious sanity—my thoughts exactly. He released Bentha and attacked us, but Imoen, Garrick, Jaheira, and myself shot him _all at the same time_. An arrow, two bolts, and a slingstone—he didn't stand a chance. Bentha was grateful for our help, and gave us an antidote potion. The mage had some spells and a robe, which Dynaheir now has, and some gold. I'm not really keeping count of our gold now, because we _almost_ have a significant amount!

Met another mage—the "Great Gazib"—who kept exploding an ogre he called "the Amazing Oopah." One weirdo wanted to see the ogre explode again and again, and on the third time, Oopah was a little irate. He attacked Gazib, destroyed the viewing stands, and ran off somewhere. Gazib himself is dazed but intact, and rather theatrically swore to avoid ogres at all costs in the future. And you didn't think of that before? Dynaheir and Gorion are the only two sane mages I've met—it's a little worrying. I'll think that I'll call him #7.


	6. Mirtul 16 through 20

_Nashkel proper_

I had an odd feeling earlier. I don't know why, but I found myself missing Gorion. _Really_ missing him, remembering... all sorts of things. When my father started teaching me magic, and how patient he was as I learned to read scrolls. Him watching over me in the infirmary after an accident flying. It felt horrible. I knew he was gone, there was nothing I could do about it, and nothing would be the same. I was outside, sitting on the side of the bridge. Then I saw a rainbow. The sun was at the perfect angle, catching the faint mist over the river in a beautiful multicolored arc. I looked at it, and...I don't really know how to describe it. I just saw it, and everything seemed fresh and clean. And then, I thought that...maybe events would turn out for the better? It seems so dark now, but there is always a rainbow.

* * *

_Mirtul 17 1368, Nashkel_

It's been miserably dry and hot through the day. The wind kept blowing dust and sand in my face. Now it's freezing cold—and still windy. I may venerate the goddess of the winds, but I don't have to _like_ this, do I? It makes flying almost impossible, and walking through it isn't much better.

We're entering the mines tomorrow. We have everything we'll need—in theory—and so, we're off. I really, really don't like this. I hate the idea of tons of rock above my head, blocking the light, the air still and clammy, the sounds of water dripping... I need to stop this, preferably _before _I require a Remove Fear spell.

_

* * *

Mirtul 18 1368, Nashkel Mines_

Doesn't matter. I may not have been raised as an Avariel, but I still have many of the race's traits. Such as a crippling phobia of being underground. Jaheira _did_ have to cast Remove Fear on me, because I couldn't even open my eyes. In a day or so, it'll be funny. At the moment, it's terrifying and embarrassing in equal measure.

There's kobolds all over the place, little green monsters with bows. Minsc and Khalid are in front, since they both have decent armor. Luckily, the kobolds are pretty poor shots. I still hate being underground. The tunnels aren't even big enough for me to open my wings completely, let alone actually fly. I feel horribly off-balance, like I'm missing a limb, an entire sense. My aim is about fifty times worse than usual. Tymora's coin, how do they manage in only two dimensions?

We're resting right now, so that Dynaheir and Jaheira can have their spells and prayers ready. Our fighters in the lead were fine, but the rest of us don't even wear armor—with the exception of Jaheira and Imoen, and leather doesn't do much good.

We're on the third—and apparently the next-to-last—level of the mine. We found a severed hand with a ring—engraved "Joseph" on the inside. Someone will have to bring the bad news to Ghastkill's sister.

Jaheira and Dynaheir examined some of the ore, as well as a small vial of viscous liquid we found. They concluded that the liquid corrodes iron, and the kobolds were probably responsible for spreading it, but neither knows why. The druid mentioned that kobolds, though numerous, rarely make significant plans, and tend to avoid already settled areas. Another mystery.

Everyone's ready, so we're starting off again.

_

* * *

Mirtul 19 1368, outside the Mines_

This is probably going to be a very long entry, as we nearly got killed several times today. First by a bunch of spiders—what were they doing underground? Then there were several nasty traps practically on top of each other, one of which Imoen didn't spot until Minsc was about to step on it. Fortunately, she managed to stop him and then disarm it.

On the final level of the mines, after fighting past a group of kobolds with fire arrows, we found the apparent mastermind of the iron crisis. He was a half-orc Cyricist named Mulahey, but he seemed to think that we were sent by Tazok to kill him—someone giving him orders? Then began a prolonged battle in which Khalid and Dynaheir were both badly wounded, largely by the skeletons he summoned. And the kobolds. I hate those little beasts. Their stupid _yip, yip, yip_-ing is getting on my nerves, and they're persistent little beasts. The kobold commandos are the worst—one of their flaming arrows set Dynaheir's hair on fire. A good thing that she thinks fast, but not so good that Minsc is...not entirely stable. He went into a rage and killed _every single kobold_. Then Mulahey offered to yield, but he just wanted to keep us talking—long enough to summon _more_ kobolds and _more_ skeletons. Yep. Out of healing potions again. And healing spells. And other spells, for that matter. I haven't told anyone about either of my dreams, though.

We found some assorted treasures in a chest in the room, as well as letters from "Tazok," whoever that might be. Jaheira says that Mulahey mentioned the name when we stormed in, but I wasn't paying attention. There's a middleman in Beregost, so we're going back there soon. Khalid pointed out that this is likely to be a huge undertaking, but I want to continue this. We've started, and it seems right that we should finish.

There was also a moonblade, belonging to the elf imprisoned in Mulahey's cave. I think that Xan is the most depressed individual I've met—he's utterly convinced that we're all doomed. He was grateful for his rescue, but was certain that we would be captured, tortured, or killed—or all three—soon. Well, we can't have that, can we? Regardless, he's joined us, as he was investigating the iron crisis before his capture.

Need to stop writing again. We're ready to get going now, and Khalid thinks he's found a faster way out of the mines.

_

* * *

Mirtul 20 1368_

Well, we're out at last. I don't think I've ever been as glad to be outside. It was snowing, and I've never flown in snow before. Gorion wouldn't let me—something about the air currents being different and possibly dangerous. In hindsight, it probably was, with wind blowing snow into my face...but somehow, the thought doesn't bother me much.

Four women outside the mines—Lamalha, Zeela, Maniera, and Telka—attacked us. Good of them to name themselves. At least one of them was a Cyricist, since Lamalha invoked the Dark Sun, and we found a holy symbol on her body. The price on my head just keeps increasing—at this rate, _I'll_ want to claim it. Or another bounty hunter will—one tougher than those amazons.


	7. Mirtul 21 through 25

_Mirtul 21 1368_

Ghastkill appreciated our work in the mines, and gave us all of 900 gold. A "small fortune" indeed...very small. Better than nothing, though. Particularly in these times. On further reflection, maybe it is a small fortune. He also recommended that we seek out someone capable of analyzing the strange liquid from the mines and the corrupted iron ore, recommending Thalantyr in High Hedge and Taerom Fuirim of Beregost.

He wanted to celebrate the re-opening of the mines, but we thought it would be better to keep a low profile. I _do _still have assassins chasing me, after all. Rather, Jaheira stamped on the idea, and everyone else...went along with it. Our druid has a strong personality. _Very_ strong.

Last night I had another dream. I was in the mines again, and Mulahey appeared. There was a dagger in front of me as if I was supposed to kill him again, but in my dream I felt too panicked to move. I just stood there, and the dagger and Mulahey vanished. As I woke, a deep, hollow voice called, _"You WILL learn!"_ and I woke up. I didn't even feel like I had rested. But I know that I can heal...again. Like after the dreams I had before, I know, somehow, that I can cure wounds. This brings the number of bizarre and inexplicable magical abilities I've gained to three. I have a guess as to the nature of the first, but as for the others—I have no idea. If this keeps up, I'll be a one-elf army. Imoen mentioned that I was thrashing around all night. I think she suspects that I'm not telling her something, but she hasn't asked. It's not that I don't want to tell her. It's just...I don't know why, actually. I suppose that I'm uncomfortable sharing a mystery like this, but I can't really explain that either.

* * *

_Mirtul 22 1368_

Of all the things to ask, why _this_? What wonderfully bad timing. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Xan asked me what a young Aril'Tel'Quessir would be doing in the world on her own. I'm not _that_ young, first of all. Gorion told me that I was born in 1326 DR. As an Avariel, I'm nearly an adult. And this is exactly the problem. Gorion, I mean. I still miss him. I played evasive at first, but I realized that Xan probably deserves to know. So I just explained all of it. The assassins, leaving Candlekeep, the ambush. Gorion's death. I don't know what he thought—hard to tell with someone who always wears the same gloomy mask. He claims that, eventually, sorrow fades and dulls. I hope so.

_

* * *

Mirtul 23 1368, outside the mines_

A sad story today. Jaheira and Khalid went searching for jobs earlier, and found a bounty posted for two stolen emeralds. We thought it would be simple, but...not so much. An artist named Prism took them for his final masterpiece. He literally poured his life into it, a marble bust of a hauntingly beautiful yet haughty elven woman. The gems were to be her eyes.

Another bounty hunter—Greywolf—arrived, though. I finally got a word in before Jaheira did, and told him with a few choice words to get lost. Greywolf, wanting to preserve his reputation, decided to attack us before attacking Prism. I suppose he didn't notice that I had a crossbow bolt trained on him. For that matter, Dynaheir and Imoen hit him with a magic missile each—spell and wand respectively—but at that point it didn't matter much.

Prism put the finishing touches on his masterpiece, and simply collapsed. Bards sing of love cutting sharper than a sword, and perhaps it does. The artist lost his will to live. I wonder who this "Ellesime" could have been, to cause such a reaction.

It's starting to scare me, how _easy_ the killing was. Nock, crank, aim, release, and then—that was it. Greywolf is now the...fourth...human I've killed. Personally, that is. Tarnesh, then Karlat, then Maniera, and now Greywolf—not counting the ones killed by others because of me, of course. Just another bounty hunter, but he wasn't after me. He only wanted the emeralds, and had our timing been different, he might be alive. I don't know what to think.

_

* * *

Mirtul 23 1368, Nashkel, Hour 12_

We met a svirfneblin merchant today. I believe her name was Karaea Harfurthock. She sells boots, jam, and pies, and collects gooseberries. An...interesting combination. She also had a timepiece for sale. I own a watch! No more silly calculations with the sun, or scouring towns for a sundial. I'm probably too excited about this, but hey, it's the novelty of the thing. Imoen's been eyeing it—I have a feeling it'll go missing soon.

_

* * *

Mirtul 24 1368, south of Nashkel, Hour 8_

Possibly, I need my sanity checked. There's a kobold, a xvart, and a tasloi calling themselves Larry, Darryl, and Darryl. I'm so confused...

Another seemingly innocent quest turned into...something else. A little boy named Albert asked us to find his dog Rufie—then handed us a "bone" of some sort. Come to think of it, I'm not sure it really _was_ a bone. Anyway, we then spent two hours searching for Rufie. When we finally found him..._That's _a little boy's dog? He's the size of a wolf! He obligingly followed us back to Albert. Then the "little boy" turned into a demon. Yes, a demon. I think it was a Tanar'ri, in fact. I caught a glimpse of their destination—all rusty-colored caverns, spikes, and blood. Unnerving, to say the least. Khalid mentioned that a former mentor of his said "no good deed goes unpunished." I don't know about that, but certainly not all is as it seems.

_

* * *

Mirtul 25 1368, Beregost_

An...interesting offer. We met with the Flaming Fist Officer Vai, and she has offered us 50 gold pieces for every bandit's scalp we bring her. On the one hand, we could probably use the money, but _I'm_ certainly not scalping bandits. That's just...wrong. On so many levels. And even if that somehow happens...they're not going in _my_ pack. You know, fifty gold isn't really _that_much, and the bandits we've killed so far have carried little other than their weapons and armor. We'd have to kill dozens of bandits just to earn a decent amount. There's no guarantee that we'd be able to get back to Beregost soon, either, so scalps might start to smell. And what happens if we have to use a potion or a spell? Those cost more than fifty gold. Forget earning anything, we'd have to kill dozens of bandits just to break even.

Now I just need to convince everyone of this. That, or get better at hiding after an ambush.


	8. Mirtul 26 through 28

_Mirtul 26 1368, Beregost, Hour 2_

Talked with Taerom Fuirim about the corrupted iron. He's agreed to examine the sample and see if he could use it for something. I certainly hope so. If so...up yours, Mulahey. I may not have knifed you in my dream, but you deserve a little message in whatever afterlife you've earned.

All right, I don't really mean that. I am, however, feeling overly pleased with myself, as we're on the way to a solution. Hopefully, I'll be laughing about this by...oh, Elesias or so. Two months isn't that unreasonable, is it?

_

* * *

Hour 5_

Found Tranzig. Oh, he was a mage, just like he said, but I think either Xan or Dynaheir could have easily defeated him alone. I fumbled with my crossbow and missed, but it was close. He apparently thought I was showing off and promised to talk, then came to his senses and attacked. At that point, I missed again, but...it wasn't entirely accidental. I know it's absurd and dangerous, but I don't want to kill people if I don't have to. Tranzig's just a lackey. The worst part of this? We had to kill him anyway. We couldn't risk Tazok being alerted. Ironic, isn't it?

We've learned that Tranzig often met with Tazok in Larswood and Peldvale. But we don't know what's there. It could be that the bandits are based in one of those locations, and we'd be walking directly into a deathtrap. Or there might be some identification the bandits use. In any case, it's just too risky to head straight there. Trying something else might be smarter, but we'll probably talk about it in the morning.

_

* * *

Mirtul 27 1368, Hour 8_

Something different indeed. We're off to find yet another crazy Cyricist—the one that Kelddath Ormlyr mentioned, Bassilus. Fortunately, we don't need to scalp him. His holy symbol should be proof enough of his death. I'd like to say that I'm looking forward to killing the madman and his blasted undead, but...not so much. According to reports, he has at least half a dozen undead—skeletons and zombies. Meaning that unless I shoot very, very well, I can't do a thing. Even then, all I'll be able to do is slow them down. So, a choice. Be completely useless, and possibly get my companions injured. That, or be marginally more useful and possibly get myself injured. I don't know enough spells to help. Blindness, Sleep, and Friends are all entirely useless against the undead, and Magic Missile is _almost _useless. Looks like I'll be fighting melee, then. A plain quarterstaff against undead that might be immune to it. I think I have a Shield spell, somewhere. I'd better have one.

Oh, this is ridiculous. I'm not Xan. Perhaps I'm not as chipper as Imoen, but neither am I depressed. Have I really changed so much? It really is true. I can't go back to where I used to be—to _what_ I used to be. I wish I could. Candlekeep, my peaceful home. Sitting atop a wall or tower, watching the residents below; flowers and trees, bright splashes of color from the sky; the ever-present sounds of the ocean. How I miss it... But there's no going back.

_

* * *

Mirtul 28 1368, Hour 14_

Victory! Bassilus is defeated, and we're five thousand gold richer. And yet—I almost pity the man. When we approached, he addressed me as "mother," making him crazy person number...eight. I think. Not knowing what else to do, I greeted him, and added that I hadn't seen him since Zhentil Keep. A lucky guess on my part. He thought no one else had survived and realized that he was right. He had been killing people and animating them as undead, thinking them his family. Gods, what happened to him? And he lied to himself the whole while. The undead he controlled fell apart when he lost concentration, and from there it was an easy matter of killing the mad priest. Minsc beheaded him with that huge two-handed sword—the tricky part was dodging his swings. I'm afraid that our ranger of dubious sanity has a tendency to go berserk—_not_ something I'd care to see again. It was frightening, that he completely lost control. He could have killed any of us.

To Bassilus, the truth was pain. He couldn't stand the realization that he had abandoned his family to their deaths to save himself. Was that before or after he turned to Cyric? From what I know of the god, he might have intentionally driven his cleric to madness.

Heroes aren't supposed to pity their foes. In all the stories...paladins kill evil villains, and that's it. They're just villains, people or monsters that need to be killed. No, not people. Just monsters, ones that everyone knows are evil. What I wouldn't give for simplicity at the moment...


	9. Mirtul 29 through Kythorn 2

_Mirtul 29 1369_

Well, that was over quickly. The novelty of a timepiece has already worn off for me, and I can't even be bothered to write the hour down. Maybe I should give it to Immy.

Finally off to High Hedge, to deliver a sample of that weird iron poison stuff to Thalantyr. I've heard he's arrogant, greedy, and conniving, but without a doubt one of the most talented mages in the area. Oh, _and_ he keeps flesh golems as guards. There are some _very_...odd...rumors about mages and flesh golems. I hope they're not true—I'd hate to have to add a #9 to my list.

_

* * *

Later_

Fortunately, Thalantyr is both entirely sane and seems quite competent. Not really what I'd expected from a loner mage. His little "blessing" was rather amusing: "I wish you 'intelligence' on your journey. I would wish you 'luck,' but it runs out quicker than one would think." He's agreed to take a look at the poison and attempt to develop an antidote of some sort. Fingers crossed.

_

* * *

Even later_

Almost literally bumped into someone. An elf named Kivan is hunting Tazok, but he's not saying why. Strength in numbers and all that. Another addition to our cause—hopefully he's saner than our other ranger. Though I have a feeling Kivan's not the type to shout "BUTTKICKING FOR GOODNESS!" Though that does present a rather comical image...

I'd better stop before someone asks me what I'm finding so funny.

_

* * *

Mirtul 30 1369_

Off to Larswood. Hoping everything goes as planned.

_

* * *

Later_

_Vith. Vith, vith, vith, vith_.

I have now exhausted my Drow vocabulary.

...I am _so_ irritated now. We found the bandits, after _three hours searching for them_. I thought I'd managed to bluff them into thinking that we wanted to join them. Then their leader noticed Kivan. That _really_ ruined things. We were forced to kill all of them. To make matters worse, we're out of spells and potions again.

Worst of all, we may have lost our chance to find Tazok. I _want_ to pin the blame on someone, but I can't. I can't blame Kivan for having been Tazok's personal prisoner and then escaping. I can't blame Jaheira for not telling me to consider this, or Imoen or Minsc for not scouting ahead. I led us into this.

Making it fully and completely my fault. Oh, the irony. I may have just shot myself in the foot. If we mess up in Peldvale...

I don't know. At the moment I just want to destroy something.

_

* * *

Kythorn 1 1369_

A new month, and a new chance. I'm writing this from the bandit's secret camp. We succeeded in finding the bandits, and Jaheira gave Kivan a potion of invisibility. So unless the bandits have a powerful mage or cleric, it should be all right.

...should be. I could have destroyed our chances to solve the iron crisis, to find my would-be killer. I nearly did. I was _incredibly_ lucky. Just the other day I wrote about how much things have changed. I still have a long ways to go. As it is, things were very close. Minsc almost destroyed our cover this time—consequently, we've parted ways with the two Rashemani. Perhaps not such a good idea before storming the secret camp, but Minsc is simply too unreliable.

_

* * *

Later_

And how was _I_ supposed to know that there was a mage in Tazok's tent? Exactly. He dispelled Kivan's invisibility, recognized him, and then called in half the camp. Luckily the bandits have bad aim. Also luckily, I was carrying several potions of explosions. They didn't expect that. I feel rather smug at the moment.

And after all this, Tazok wasn't even here. One of the bandit leaders, Taugosz Tenhammer, yelled at us for a while and took a few swings with his hammer. Well, Khalid and Jaheira each drank a potion of invulnerability, Xan and myself cast Shield, Imoen activated her Shield amulet, and Kivan was invisible. No wonder we didn't flinch. Ha. In your _face_, Black Talons.

Anyway, we know that there's a hidden iron mine nearby. In the Cloakwood—an enormous forest, filled with monsters, traps, Shadow Druids, and now, Iron Throne guards. An elf we met in Tazok's tent, Ender Sai, gave us most of this handy information. And he _also_ recognized Kivan. How is the most silent person I know so...famous?

Logic. Who needs it?

_

* * *

Kythorn 2 1368, Cloakwood_

Imoen joked that she and Garrick are feeling lonely as the only humans in our merry band of misfits. "Coran the wyvern-hunter," an elven rogue, has joined our group. He seeks to claim a bounty for a wyvern's head. Great. The price is two thousand gold, though. Hopefully we won't be forced to spend _all_ of that on healing potions. Funnily enough, Kelddath Ormlyr is the one offering the gold. _And_ he's a priest of Lathander. As a Dawnbringer, he's responsible for church funds, and as mayor of Beregost, he's responsible for the town's funds.

_

* * *

Later_

I hadn't realized how _obnoxious_ Coran was earlier. He has a very high opinion of himself as a charming rogue and a ladies' man. I let him know quite plainly that he should abandon any hopes of getting into my bed, but he just grinned. Jerk. I also informed him that he'd better leave Immy alone. I don't think he was listening. Khalid doesn't know how to deal with Coran, he's had the sense to stay away from Jaheira, Kivan's been even more elusive than usual, and Xan's been glaring daggers at his back all day._ Aerdrie Faenya, why me?!?!_ I'm stuck in a group of...I don't even know what we are. A bossy druid, her henpecked husband, a moody ranger, a largely inept bard, a thief with few regards for property laws, a depressed mage, and now Coran. And myself. The irritable, incompetent, naïve little Avariel.

What _fun._


	10. Kythorn 2 through 6

Kythorn 2 1368, Cloakwood

Saved a merchant from a few angry druids. Whoops. Rule #1 of traveling in a forest: don't mess with the druids. Fortunately, one of them, Seniyad, knew Jaheira. In fact, he's the Archdruid of the druidic order she's a part of. He respected her enough to leave without fighting, and Aldeth Sashentar expressed his gratitude. Well, if we're in Baldur's Gate, we may have an ally. Thanks a lot. I'll remember that, next time I have a choice between helping angry druids and possibly guilty merchants.

* * *

  
Kythorn 4 1368, STILL IN THE CLOAKWOOD!!!

I had a dream last night. I was flying over the bandit camp, and then...I don't know what happened. My wings locked, and I was diving towards the ground. It was terrifying. I haven't hit the ground for some time, but I still remember that it hurts. Particularly when you hit a wall first. But this time, I simply sank into the ground, not even feeling the claustrophobia I expected. I saw a perfect statue of myself. Everything, the same. Unnerving, to say the least.  
A voice taunted me: My pride is undeserved, when my being is borrowed. From where, I wonder? Credit where it is due, and payment where it is demanded. What deals have I made? None, to warrant this.  
Then a bone dagger—like the one from my last dream—struck the statue. It cracked slightly, and it hurt. It felt like I was being torn apart. I was made as I am, the voice continued, and can be broken. I toppled backward and...  
fell.  
A very long way down. I woke up as I saw the bottom approaching.  
How do others deal with the thought of falling, striking the same earth that bears their weight? It was purely terrifying. I can't imagine what I would do without my wings.

* * *

  
This forest is driving me crazy. It seems to go on forever. And yet...it's beautiful. Jaheira says that some of the trees are centuries old. I don't think I've seen anything quite like it. I also seem to have acquired a friend. There's a little bird—a merlin, Kivan called it—that's been following me around. He's rather endearing. I think I'll call him Tarrasque.

* * *

  
Later

My clever plot worked exactly as intended. I called my bird friend, and everyone jumped. Beware, for I am cheerful once more.

* * *

  
Kythorn 5 1368

A young man named Tiber asked us to find his brother. They'd apparently found a sword called the Spider's Bane, and wanted to clear out part of the Cloakwood. Problem is, Chelak went missing, and his brother's...wary...of going further in the forest. We're keeping an eye out.

* * *

Later

I hate spiders. It's official. You need to hit a joint or an eye to damage the stupid twitchy things. Do you have any idea how hard that is from the air? Hovering is a pain no matter what. So I could go and try bashing the bugs with my staff, or I can keep missing.

Staff it is. It should at least make a good crack! noise when I hit.

* * *

Kythorn 6 1368

Poor Tiber. Poor Chelak. Poor Centeol.

We found Tiber's brother. I drank a strength potion and carried the body myself.  
Centeol had apparently been directing the arachnids in this part of the forest. She claimed to have been cursed to her horrible shape. Perhaps death was a mercy to her. I hope it was.


	11. Kythorn 6 through 12

_Kythorn 7_

Walked into a cave and met a woodsman looking for "subterranean trees." Riiiight. This "Peter of the North" was raising baby wyverns, training them as guards for the Iron Throne. Quite an ugly fight. The wyverns went straight for _me_, for some reason. Stupid little flappers. I was forced—_yes, forced—_to fly out of the cave as quickly as I could, in order for everyone else to shoot at them. _I don't want to be bait!_ If this happens when we go after Coran's wyverns..._someone_ is going to pay. Oh, and we've been attacked several times by Shadow Druids. One of them gave us a potion of invulnerability instead of attacking, but Jaheira recommended throwing it away.

Tarrasque now comes on command. I've taken to carrying a leather glove around—his claws are _sharp_. Imoen and Xan in particular still jump when I call him, and I am still amused.

_

* * *

Kythorn 8_

Argh. Immy's been teasing me mercilessly since I stopped being quite so irritable. She keeps pointing out that Xan and I have been talking a great deal. She thinks we'd look "cute" together. Her words, not mine. Yeah, Coran talks to me a fair amount as well. Doesn't mean that I'm interested. Quite the opposite. I find him amusing in a "what the hell is wrong with him" sort of way. Jaheira's phrase, not mine.

Incidentally, Coran found twelve different flowers somewhere. One, he claimed, for each month, and all for a beauty heralded by the year as a whole. Pardon me—it was _eleven_ flowers and a frozen branch. Oh, Coran, _of course_ I'll sleep with you! No, dream on, elf. Turn your sights elsewhere. Oh, but I'd already told him NOT to flirt with Imoen. That leaves...Jaheira. Gods, what I wouldn't give to see that.

Coran: O lady of the woods, your beauty shines bright as a dryad's.

Jaheira: *THWACK*

Unfortunately, I think Coran knows better. A pity.

_

* * *

Kythorn 9_

Imoen's been looking particularly smug. She does that when she thinks that she's right—very irritating habit of hers. Why? Because I *gasp* _hugged_ Xan! This _must_ mean that I'm deeply and irrevocably in love! Actually, he was looking especially depressed, and I thought a hug might help. And if Imoen's told anyone about her half-witted "theories," I swear I'll hex her.

...probably not. But I'd have to do _something_. I still haven't forgiven her for the itching powder four years ago. Or the overnight face-painting. Or the pitcher of water placed oh-so-conveniently on my door—when I closed the door, being soaked was not enough. No, the pitcher hit me as well. I had to stay in the temple for two days—it was quite a heavy pitcher. For that matter, I still consider the break-in and journal theft rather serious offences. Especially since I still don't know where my other journal went. Yes, the score is yet uneven. But I shall have my revenge!

I'd cackle evilly, except that I'm not entirely serious. Also, I don't want any strange looks from my companions, and evil cackles don't transcribe well.

_

* * *

Kythorn 11_

Writing this at the Friendly Arm Inn. It was a very long trip back through the Cloakwood, so I haven't had much chance to write. Anyway, we finally got through the forest. Then we made it into the mines. Run by _slaves_, no less. Well, that had to change. After fighting through three levels of the mine, we found the man in charge—Davaeorn. Psycho evil mage, and consequently #9 on my list. Good thing I'm writing this down, otherwise I'd worry about forgetting all the names.

1. Xzar—no comment

2. Mysterious mage in pink—how does he measure up to his own standards?

3. Marl—not insane, exactly

4. Portalbendar-whatshisname—no idea WHAT he was talking about

5. Minsc, owner of the one and only miniature giant space hamster

6. Zordral—the hypocritical mage

7. The "Great Gazib" of exploding ogre fame

8. Bassilus the Cyricist

...Just in case, you understand. We killed Davaeorn, and searched the rest of the mines—having been otherwise engaged on the way down. We met a man named Rill, who made arrangements to flood the place when everyone was out. Also met a dwarf named Yeslick—a fighter and priest of Clangeddin Silverbeard, and the last of the Orothiar dwarves who once dwelled in the Cloakwood. He...didn't make it. He wanted to make sure that no one was still there, and then turned the key to the floodgates himself. He had nothing left to live for. No home, no clan...I didn't know him, and now I never will. Nonetheless—farewell. Yeslick Orothiar, may the Morndinsamman, the high dwarves under Moradin, smile upon you, and may you find the peace you did not know in life.

Strange, to write a stranger's eulogy. I could not write one for my father, because I could not think where to begin. I can write this for Yeslick because I knew so little of him. I do not think I could do this for any of my friends.

I noticed a disturbing similarity between the dwarf and certain of our group. Upon Tazok's death, Kivan will have nothing left. I'd guess that he would simply depart to Arvanaith. Xan believes that there is no point in anything, and that death will claim us soon enough. I intend to prove him wrong on this, but that's another matter. And myself. After the end of my quest, what will happen? In all likelihood, we will all go our separate ways. But what will be left for me?

Interestingly enough, there is a _dye merchant_ at the Inn. Imoen, beware.

* * *

_Kythorn 12_

We're off to Firewine tomorrow. Lucky us. Who doesn't love ancient deathtraps? I hope Imoen's up to scouting, as she's the only one capable of finding traps without stepping on them first.


	12. Kythorn 13 through 16

A/N: This story has largely migrated to the Attic at gamejag dot net, and will be updated there more regularly.

_

* * *

Kythorn 13_

So Kivan finally told me why he's hunting Tazok. Gods, no wonder he's so grim. It must have been a horrific experience. And in all this time, he hasn't told anyone. They say that he who fights monsters must take care not to become a monster himself. Very true indeed, and I hope that our ranger realizes this. What is the point of revenge in the name of justice, if you are no better than the monsters you slay?

...I sound like a paladin. Not good. But those tinheads do have one thing right—I don't think there's much difference between revenge and killing. Come to think of it, I should remember that myself, when I find Mister Spiky.

_

* * *

Later_

Went through the Firewine Ruins. They were every bit as heavily trapped as we'd heard. Fortunately Imoen was able to find most of the traps, although we had a few nervous moments.

We met a bard, Poe, who sang a ballad on the place's history. Both the composition and performance were good, although it was a little...long. I don't particularly like ballads because they simply don't _stop_. It's one thing to sing a tragic tale of heroes and traitors. It's another to sing so many verses that your audience loses count. A good thing that Garrick prefers acting to singing, then.

In the ruins, we found kobolds, kobold commandos, ogre mages, and flesh golems. We also found several ghosts—the same ones that Poe sang about? I think so, as they were laid to rest when we retrieved armor from another spirit. Based on Poe's song, that would be the traitor. "Together enter, together fall." Oh, and we've found another cursed item—quite the collection I have now. This one is a spear that inflicts as much damage upon its wielder as it does to its target—Backbiter. If I get very, very desperate, it might be useful. But I want to keep it nearby so no one ends up with a spear welded to their hand. That...would be bad.

_

* * *

Kythorn 14_

Lovely. Just lovely. We're in Baldur's Gate, which annoys Jaheira and Kivan. I'll probably have to keep an eye on Imoen, with all these richly dressed nobles around. I think Coran's teaching Garrick how to pick locks—among other things. And for some reason Xan's been going out of his way to avoid me since yesterday, after he oh-so-politely instructed me to leave him alone. Oh, _and_ Scar dragooned us into working for the Fist. Not that I have anything against them, mind—it's just that, lately, I've had fewer choices than I'd like.

And I have several additions to my little list. The Blade and Stars is _full_ of crazy people.

#11: Quayle, a gnome at Wyrm's Crossing. He claimed to be the "smartest gnome in Faerun."

#11: Shaella, a very devout Leiran.

#12: G'Axir the self-proclaimed Seer. I'm supposed to give him a Sphene gem. Why would I do _that_? Same gibberish about light, darkness, and so on as Portal-something.

#13: Maple Willow Aspen. She's paranoid about tree jokes. Imoen started to ask her about trees, but I managed to get my hand over her mouth before she finished. M.W.A. calmed down when Khalid asked for directions to the Flaming Fist headquarters instead.

#14: Tiax. By far the worst of the lot. Speaks of himself in the third person, and believes that he's been divinely appointed by Cyric to rule the world. That was about when I backed off...slowly. I've had enough to do with Cyricists, thankyouverymuch.

_

* * *

Kythorn 15_

Amused myself in Sorcerous Sundries. Not just buying things, although skull traps from two hundred feet up should be interesting. I also have a new wand of fire, and several more explosive potions. No, Imoen and I went upstairs, and bumped into a group of wizards, who promptly told us to shoo. I pointed out that this store was technically Halbazzer Drin's, and entrance rules were his to enforce. One of the wizards complimented me for my "display of simian logic." I took great pleasure in babbling about the psyco-sociological nature of stores, but was not so happy when they attacked. Oh well. I did get to use my new wand. Ironically, two of the wizards had robes of fire resistance. Didn't help them much. One of them had a cursed ring—one that makes its wearer incredibly stupid. No wonder he didn't like my lecture.

Since he was wearing a cursed ring in the first place, Mr. Simian is #15.

_

* * *

Later_

Ouch. Lecture on responsibility from Jaheira. Since I'm the (nominal) leader of this group, and since I was supposed to be watching Imoen, my "childish behavior" earned me a very one-sided conversation. I wanted to say "how was I supposed to know that one of the wizards would react violently to jargon?" but I suppose Jae had a point. I don't really want to admit it, but I should have been more careful. Given my prior experience with mages, I should have at least considered that they would have acted unexpectedly. Of all the mages I've met, exactly four have been sane—Gorion, (briefly) Dynaheir, Thalantyr, and Xan. Though given his recent behavior, I'm not so sure...

_

* * *

Kythorn 16_

Well, that didn't go as planned. Imoen was digging through my pack for some reason, and found the dye I purchased at the Friendly Arm. Honestly, the only time _I_ try to pull a prank, it explodes in my face. Immy used it to dye her hair—intentionally. So now her hair is bright, bright pink. There is one benefit to her...new look. It's harder for her to sneak now, with her oh-so-noticeable pink hair.

_

* * *

Later_

Investigated the Seven Suns. I kept getting a sense of...something unnatural? evil? I don't know. A merchant leaving the place said that some of the traders had been acting strangely, and their faces—changed. Scar has to know what's going on.


	13. Kythorn 17 through 21

_Kythorn 17_

Yippee. We get to go and kill doppelgangers. We're off to storm the Seven Suns, after stocking up on healing potions. I hate fighting indoors. Wish me luck, journal. What was it that Thalantyr said? "I wish you intelligence on your journey. I would wish you luck, but it runs out quicker than one would think." Here's hoping that _we_ behave intelligently, then. Oh, and that the doppelgangers don't.

_

* * *

Later_

All still alive, and relatively unharmed. It's a good thing that the doppelganger are merely sneaky, and not that skilled in combat. Still, I'd rather not come face-to-face with them again, no matter how much gold we make from it.

Incidentally, I had my wings pulled on three separate occasions by overly curious children. I think that I need to invest in a very large cloak.

_

* * *

Kythorn 18_

Sewers—a claustrophobe's worst nightmare. Especially if said claustrophobe is supposed to be hunting ogre magi and carrion crawlers. Yes, another task from Scar. People have been disappearing, and the guards found tracks of some many-legged creature leading into the sewers. We were the lucky ones who got to follow the tracks. Apparently an ogre mage had been sending his little pets out to feed, while he took what valuables the victims might have. On the bright side, we picked up a new enchanted bastard sword for Khalid. Which reminds me—why are they called "bastard swords?" Are they the result of love affairs between two-handed swords and longswords?

On the downside, I think I can still smell sewers. Especially since we had to go there _twice—_the second to retrieve the body of Entar Silvershield's daughter.

_

* * *

Kythorn 19, road to Ulgoth's Beard_

Bounty hunters really spice up anyone's life, don't they? Nothing's come up, so we decided to head north to a small village, Ulgoth's Beard. Apparently strange things have been happening there lately. Anyway, just past the Wyrm's Crossing, an elf named Imanel Silversword confronted us. Judging by her conversation with Kivan, she was a fallen ranger in Tazok's service. She insulted us a few times and then attacked—after setting her wolves on us as well. Naturally. It was both disturbing and peculiar. One of the wolves was...singing. Then it commented that its poem didn't rhyme, but it wasn't a bard, and it had eaten the last critic. Very weird, but it shut Garrick up pretty quickly. Incidentally, Kivan has his old bow back, and I have a suit of elven chain. Off to Ulgoth's Beard, then.

_

* * *

Kythorn 20_

Oh, that was smart, deciding to do a favor for some random mage. All I've found is that 1) I should never agree to a quest before cross-examining the quest-giver and 2) _insanity is everywhere_. A mage named Shandalar teleported us to a far northern island, after giving us a wardstone to bring us back—after we found his stupid cloak, that is. En route, we encountered no less than seven wizards, each and every one utterly out of his mind. The insanity ranged from deranged babbling to freakish paranoia. Unfortunately, the wizards' various mental instabilities didn't hinder their spell-casting abilities much. Imoen's gained a scar near her eye, Garrick's wearing a bandage at a jaunty angle on his forehead, Kivan's poor cloak gained yet another tear, and I discovered why I should stick to fighting with a crossbow. I missed a parry, and one of the mages broke my arm with a quarterstaff. Jae's out of healing spells, so I'm out of luck. Lovely choice—suffer while remaining conscious, or let the druid feed me some foul-tasting herb to knock me out. I choose consciousness. At least it was my left arm. At least I still have a few exploding potions.

In the meantime:

#16: Andris

17: Beyn

18: Marcellus

19: Tellan

20: Cuchol

21: Dezkiel

I think that that's all of them. Gods, I _hope_ so. How many crazy mages can there BE on one island?!?!?!

...as it turns out, nine. I certainly wouldn't swear by my own sanity, and I have no idea what's going on with Xan. I think we need to talk.

_

* * *

Kythorn 21_

Three healing potions, two Cure Light Wounds, one Cure Medium Wounds, and two mysterious healing abilities later, my arm is actually in working condition. Found Shandalar's cloak, so if we can find the exit, we're _freeeee_.

...I hope.

_

* * *

Later_

Back in Ulgoth's Beard. New (and expensive) equipment all around from the bartender/merchant—I decided to invest in a set of metal bracers, hopefully averting catastrophes like yesterday's. Yes, Jaheira. I've learned my lesson—if I'm going to jump into battles, learn to fight first. That, or stock up on potions of Fire Resistance and Fiery Burning. I think I prefer my way, actually.

Also was approached by a dwarf, Hurgan Stoneblade, to retrieve a dagger that belonged to his grandfather. I said we'd consider it—I _hate_ dungeon-crawling. In all probability, I'll be overruled, but it's worth a try. Verdict tomorrow.


	14. Kythorn 22 through 24

_Kythorn 22_

_  
Well, aren't I the lucky Avariel? A summary of the party's reactions to the possibility of a journey to Durlag's Tower:_

Imoen: Danger? Traps? Monsters? Nah. But—wait, treasure?! Count me in!

Garrick: Yes! Our deeds will be sung through the ages! We shall be heroes of great renown, and all shall know our names!

Khalid: W-whatever you say, Jaheira, d-dear.

Jaheira: Must I make all the decisions myself?!

Coran: Life is _adventure or nothing._

Kivan: I wish only to find Tazok.

Xan: What's the point? We're all doomed, let's hasten the inevitable. Onward, to futility!

...in other words, on we go. That's right, pay absolutely no heed to the crippling claustrophobia of the party sniper/aerial assault. And, naturally, Find Traps and Cure Wounds are cleric spells, and it's not as though a dwarf would think to build high ceilings. Oh, and I've gained several strange and no doubt unnatural abilities—yes, Jaheira already lectured me on "taking gifts from strangers," as it were. And Xan, when he was still talking to me at least. If these help keep my friends and myself alive, I'm not sure I have a choice. But I digress. This one was particularly distubing—I dreamed of drowning in a river of blood. I remained barely afloat, until I woke up. And I have another freakish ability—to slow poison, the same as the last time. The last nasty dream, that is. Between my two nightmares, I dreamed again of the mysterious Avariel woman. This time, I was kneeling in front of her and she touched my forehead. Then everything seemed...sharper? Clearer? It was like my eyesight had suddenly grown better. I've had an easier time spotting Mirror Images and hidden doors, too.

* * *

_Later_  
Yippee. Attacked again, this time while simply walking past a Red Wizard gathering. My odd sight ability helped a great deal. Also met #22, a druid named Fahrington. He asked us to find his "scroll of wisdom," offering to "brighten my karma" if we did so. And GUESS WHAT? The scroll in question? It was a cursed scroll of stupidity. That explains a great deal. Upon meeting the druid, my first thought was "what herbs has he been...studying?"

* * *

_Kythorn 23, south of Beregost_

Number 23 today. A mad mage named Mutamin—enough with the alliteration!—had been controlling basilisks to create some perveted garden for himself. Either he needed help, or he had a very twisted idea of beauty. Every single statue had an expression of the purest horror on its face. I took great pleasure in dropping Skull Traps on the basilisks....what? They're monsters, and somehow I don't think that the baby basilisks are waiting for daddy to come home—though no doubt mommy basilisk has a killer glare. A good thing that none of them looked up, though. Mid-air petrification doesn't strike me as an enjoyable way to kick the bucket—aside from the impossiblity of resurrection.

_

* * *

_

Later

Words do not even begin to describe this. South and west of the "garden," we met a group of "merchants." Yes, they were merchants, and I'm Aerdrie Faenya's avatar. They walked off whining about the loss of some cargo. Shortly after they left, Xan noticed a strange creature—a doe, pure white in color. It led us to the "merchants"—in actuality slavers—and a number of their hired thugs. And three slaves—all elven women. From my vantage point, I missed most of the conversation, but somehow Kivan, Coran, and Xan walked behind the slavers and stabbed them in the back. Well, stabbed, shot, and flame arrow-ed, but it was every bit as effective. The guards were rather compliant at that point, and left without a fuss. The women—Siene, Diala, and Minuwiel—were quite grateful for their rescue. Xan was quite sure that they would only be captured again, despite our efforts. Hence why I cast Protection from Evil, but never mind.

* * *

_Kythorn 24_

Reached Durlag's Tower today. It's huge—it must be two hundred feet tall, if not more. But even the pathway was dangerous. We encountered four Battle Horrors. How dare they be missile resistant! I think I've been getting better with my staff, though, and it certainly worked. And I'm still in one piece—definitely a good sign.  
For now.


	15. Kythorn 25 through 27

_A longer chapter this time, because I'm fed up of day-by-day uploads. And if you're still reading this, I applaud your patience and thank you for it.

* * *

Kythorn 25_

Small bit of good news. Little Tarrasque seems to have a knack for spotting traps. Imoen has a knack for disarming them, and Coran's good at picking locks (when we let him—you never know where petty thievery might get you), so Durlag's Tower is looking somewhat more manageable. Only somewhat. Why? Because there is a gods-damned DEMONKNIGHT that's taken over! I did say that we should avoid the place, and I've just been vindicated. It appeared, fireballed the tourists, and teleported away when we attacked it. As far as I know, we're the only ones still alive in this place.

Yes, I probably should have mentioned this first. We met our tour guide at the outer gate, and got an overly dramatic description of the front door. Then came the overly dramatic description of the first room, section by section. It would have been more interesting without the artificial drama. Assuming that half of what "Honest Ike" said was true, Durlag's clan was attacked by mindflayers, who infiltrated the clan with doppelgangers. Durlag Trollkiller was forced to slay monsters disguised as his family. He became paranoid, and hired builders to make the place a deathtrap. Over the years, rumors about the clan's treasures spread, and anyone looking to earn gold with little effort made their way to the tower. Most of them didn't make it past the traps, but there were enough successes that the rumors persisted. Ike explained that he gives tours because most of the first level is trap-free. Being here... it feels like an act of desecration, disrespect for the memories of the fallen. We're here because Ike is, and he's here because the earlier groups of adventurers had to investigate. The tower is supposed to be a deathtrap, dedicated to one man's misery and folly, and it's turned into another dungeon-crawl site where would-be adventurers "test their mettle." But now that we know about the demonknight, we can't just leave. And we did agree to find Hurgan's grandfather's dagger. Onward, then. No rest for the wicked, as they say.

* * *

_Kythorn, date unknown_  
How long have we been down here? I've used three scrolls of Resist Fear, and Jaheira's cast Remove Fear on me twice. It might be just my imagination, but the air feels heavy, and I can hear things moving about above and below us. Thank the gods for Jae's Find Traps spell. This is one of the few times I'd prefer to trust the gods. No matter how skilled our thieves are, all it takes is one trap. So far we've avoided cloudkill, petrification, horror, acid, fireball, and poison traps, any one of which could easily be fatal. I feel as though I'm trapped in the eye of a storm. Will this moment of calm be my last?

* * *

_????_

As if being underground wasn't bad enough. Durlag's tower has only gotten worse. Four guardian...spirits? set us four riddles to answer. Not terribly difficult, but they require items symbolizing the answers—greed, fear, love, and rage. After retrieving the four relevant items, they attacked us. Since—yet again—we're out of spells and running low on potions, we have to rest until Jaheira can get some of her spells back. Here's hoping that I don't panic during the night, then.

_

* * *

_

????

Doppelgangers. Oh joy. If I believed that they were real, there would be dozens of Islannes, Fuernabols, Durlags, and Kiels in this madhouse. It's still unpleasant. The Islanne doppelgangers are particularly horrible—they don't transform until they're already dead, and they scream... Every time, I wonder if I might be attacking the real one. I know from Ike's tour that all of the dwarves are long dead, but still...  
I hate doppelgangers. They lie with their very faces, and the worst part is that they seem not to.

_

* * *

_

???????

Dire-charmed heroes, greater wyverns, elemental dungeons, and giant chess games. Lovely. Oh, and the fireball traps. Mustn't forget those. I think that I need a new cloak. Mine is starting to look as worn as Kivan's, and that's saying something. I would bet that his is more patch than cloak by now.  
I wonder, what time is it? Is the sun out, or is it raining? Are we in Flamerule yet? I hope not. My last entry before entering the tower was on the 25th of Kythorn. Five days, underground...  
I'd better stop.

* * *

_???????_  
Ghosts and statues all over the place—including the ghost of Durlag himself. Friendly sort, wasn't he? While he was still alive, he made this tower all but impenetrable. Now that he's dead, he's sending a two-bit ragtag group on all sorts of quests. Well, at least he unlocked a door for us.

...which led, ultimately to the demonknight. I...I don't think I've ever been so genuinely terrified. The thing was huge, bigger than the armored figure I saw the night that I left Candlekeep. We broke a mirror and...I don't really know how to put it. These peculiar creatures appeared, and then proceeded to attack everyone—the demonknight included. Then it just laughed. The last group had been driven mad attacking their own reflections, and it expected the same of us. It forgot one thing: death from above. Rather, potions of explosion and oils of fiery burning dropped from the rafters. It's hard to go insane killing one's reflection if said reflection cannot be seen in the first place. From there, only the demonknight itself was left.  
Only. I make myself laugh sometimes. It nearly killed all of us. As it is, Khalid's lost a lot of blood, and Jaheira's not sure if Coran will survive.

And we lost Garrick. Just one hit, and...that was it. I hate this. He might still be alive if it weren't for this damned tower. For all we know, he might have had a future. In all probability, he will be forgotten, save for our memories of him. Which are...what? A bard with a mediocre singing voice, decent skill at the harp, and little else. Most of us told him to shut up if he so much as offered to sing. Now I wish I hadn't. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve any of this. He did his best whenever he could, and it wasn't enough. Not this time.  
There are no temples close enough to resurrect Garrick, so Kivan agreed to take our fallen bard's body outside for burial. I hope that I'll be able to say something then. Something more meaningful, that is. Perhaps I should start a list of those who have died because of me, along with my list of madmen. It would certainly be a long list. What with those I've killed, and those dead because I wasn't there in time or they were in the wrong place...

Until then, Garrick, may Kelemvor guide you and Milil keep you. Rest ye well in the House of Knowledge, and we will do our best to remember you.

The worst of this is that I know we will never meet again. Should I be fortunate enough to die naturally, I will enter Arvandor. This is looking less and less likely, so...

This is...difficult. I wrote what seemed a fitting eulogy for Yeslick, a dwarf I never knew. I still cannot write anything for Gorion, because it's never good enough. For Garrick, a friend, all I can do is ramble on about—nothing.

_Friend is but a word, 'tis just a sound we tragedy's occurred we realize our mistake.  
'Tis only then, I fear, that we may realizeWhat they were to us, as we say goodbyes._


	16. Kythorn 27 through Flamerule 2

Yikes, I haven't updated here in ages. Updated far more regularly at gamejag dot net, for the record.

* * *

_Kythorn 27 _

According to a merchant outside the tower, we spent nearly two days in the tower. Two days' worth of dungeon-crawling, trap-disarming, lock-picking, and looting. And having Remove Fear spells wear off at inopportune times, such that certain party members feel the need to huddle in a corner while the others fight for their lives. Wait. That was just me. Also, I've just realized that the summer solstice was a week ago. As I recall, we were forcibly teleported to a speck of an island in the middle of some far-north sea. We'd spent most of the day traipsing about fighting madmen, one of whom broke my arm—charming. Merry summer Solstice to me.

I swear, Beshaba herself is ogling our group. Maid of Misfortune, if indeed you eye us, kindly direct your less-than-benevolent gaze elsewhere. To the best of my knowledge, I've done nothing to hinder you or your followers. If I offer you something, will you bother another group? I'm sure that many adventuring groups have had more than their fair share of your sister's favor. Aside from that, I'd simply like to be left alone.

Scratch that. I don't want to kill any Tymorans. Particularly as I believe Imoen venerates the Lady of Luck, and it's not as though they've done anything to me in the first place. And I wouldn't wish my misfortune on anyone, save for whoever's causing it. It isn't their problem, it's mine. Assuming that it isn't a lich, dragon, vampire, or beholder pulling all the strings, it should be my problem to deal with. And should it be one of the above behind this mess, I'll still do what I can. Who knows? I might be lucky, or my foe unlucky. Although...I recall reading in some tome or other that few deities are overly fond of Cyric. Many of my attackers thus far have been Cyricists. If Beshaba truly dislikes Cyric, and if I continue to weather these attacks, Beshaba might be persuaded to—what did I write above? Direct her less-than-benevolent gaze elsewhere.

Or not. Why should normality shield me? Despite the fact that my version of "normal" is rather...different. All I can hope is that my mysterious enemy has found a hobby, is running short on funds, or that we might miraculously discover some helpful artifact. This is the point of hope, is it not? Hope is in the drowning man's final breath. He hopes that he may somehow live, despite all evidence to the contrary, for without hope, you may as well be blind. True despair renders one unable to see their future, because they believe that none exists for them. But by this lemma, Xan is blinder than a Drow in full sunlight, and Imoen has the sight of an eagle.

Everyone's been...quiet...lately. Understandable. This life is not an easy one, but perhaps it is hard to realize that. To look at yourself, you would need the clear vision of Savras himself. This loss was a wake-up of sorts. Only when tragedy struck so close did we—or, at least, I—realize the risk and cost involved in "adventure." I could almost understand why Marl, so long ago, nearly attacked us. Almost. No one attacks my friends and gets away with it.

Enough soul-searching for now, though. We've work to do—and a fallen songbird to bury.

* * *

_Nighttime _

I wish we had never seen this blasted tower, but there's nothing I can do about it. Ike is dead already, killed by the demonknight; there's no use holding a grudge. At least some good came of it; with all the enchanted daggers we found, one of them has to be the one that Hurgan was looking for.

I feel like I'm just burning out. It's always another quest to complete, another monster to kill, or another dungeon to explore. Can this be all that there is? Do we ever wonder why? Perhaps I need a list.

Revenge—Kivan is a living example of a quest for vengeance gone horribly wrong. Er...probably not the best idea, really. I wouldn't really have a problem killing Mr. Spiky, but perhaps it shouldn't be my first motive.

Gold—Whether or not it's important is irrelevant, but I think that there are more significant things out there.

Discovery—as in, discovering who keeps sending assassins after me. Well, I'd certainly like to know.

For the time being, this is all I can think of, so time to sleep, I guess.

_Later _

Forget sleep. I...think I'm going through spell withdrawal, from all those Remove Fear spells. I keep thinking that there's something hiding in the shadows, or behind that tree... This isn't helping!!! Funny. Some say that writing or talking about problems helps. This most definitely is not.

On the whole, this is rather embarrassing. Tomorrow morning is not going to be enjoyable.

* * *

_  
__Kythorn 28 _

After much difficulty, I finally managed to sleep—I had a sleep spell memorized. Aren't elves supposed to be resistant to sleep spells? Then again, "resistant" doesn't mean "immune." Not that I'm complaining. Not if it helped me sleep—without nightmares, at that.

At the moment, we're right by the coast. Not far from Candlekeep...

But I can't just leave. As Gorion told me, and as Shank and Carbos illustrated, it wasn't safe. I still don't know why I have a price on my head, and I have companions with other concerns. And there's still Hurgan's dagger to give back.

I should probably put this away, as Jaheira says that there are sirines in this area.

* * *

_Later _

We helped a woman named Ardrouine find her lost son. I feel strangely good about this. The area's still dangerous, what with sirenes and worgs, but for the time being, they're all right. Somehow...it's nice to know that some appreciate the work that adventurers do.

Also, #23 and #24, after a long respite. Two seers—or should I write "seers?" One, Pallonia, approached us only to say that there were mighty forces at work now. Reminds me a bit of Portal-something. The other, Arkushule, offered a palmistry reading. Nice of her, except for the bit where she panicked. Oh, did I mention this? She stared at my palm for nearly five minutes straight. Then she screamed and ran away as quickly as she could. I don't normally swear, but what in all the Hells did she see? To the best of my knowledge, I'm not that scary.

* * *

_Kythorn 29_

Still just wandering around. Despite the knowledge that someone seeks my head, this is oddly relaxing. I've always found the sea comforting—and the winds blowing off it are simply incredible. So many things have gone wrong, but the peace of this day alone is worth more than any treasure. In my defence, flight is practically a form of worship to Aerdrie Faenya. It is said that she gave wings to the Avariel, and she is the goddess of the winds. Thus, I feel no shame in what might be seen as slacking off.

Also, more sirines. Met one named Shoal, who asked for a kiss from one of our number before...breaking down in tears? I didn't think that sirines did that sort of thing. As it turned out, she was being controlled by an ogre mage. Lovely. Aforementioned ogre mage then arrived with every intention of blasting us into a number of very small pieces. It seems Shoal shouldn't have said that she should have slain one of us (alliteration intended, for once). I'm surprised that she didn't manage to kill Coran.

Which reminds me. #25 has arrived. A mage asked us to investigate a shipwreck, claiming that it would make us "like him." Er...thanks all the same, but I prefer to keep my sanity intact . I do sort of need it, after all. Found another cursed ring—it makes the wearer as brilliant and analytically-minded as a dwarf Sahuagin out of water. Got an oil of fiery burning out of this little detour, though.

Finding the ring just made me think...things are so different with Garrick gone. It used to be that he'd spot an enchanted item and, a moment later, have a thousand tales ready, on its history, enchantment, past owners... His account of the Girdle of Sueification still makes me smile. But now, I just need to cast an Identify spell. For our bard, knowledge and lore were two of life's greatest treasures. For me, identifying items is composed of two steps: memorize Identify, then cast Identify. Should multiple items require identification, repeat step 2 as necessary or as desired, or until memorized spells have been exhausted, in which case repeat steps 1-2. Three steps, then. Lore and magic are two entirely different things.

* * *

_Nighttime _

A surprisingly pleasant evening, all things considered. We shared stories for a while—Jaheira and Khalid told a story about a red dragon they and Gorion had fought. Imoen recounted one of her pranks—the bowl of slush placed atop Ulraunt's half-opened door. Not her most original work, admittedly, but she was only six or so, and the aftermath more than made up for that. Seeing Ulraunt charging after her, sodden and shivering, was simply priceless. Even Kivan had a tale to tell, about a celebration in Shilmista. Daoine Teague Feer, I think it was. It's strange, to think that our grim and silent ranger might have been different, once. Just another elf, joining in the traditional festivities with his Deheriana. And Jaheira and Khalid, fighting a dragon... Not what I'd expect from them, but I can imagine it. They certainly work well as a team. I wish Garrick could have been here for this. But perhaps this is our way of remembering him, a long-delayed wake of sorts.

I suppose I simply hadn't thought about my friends' pasts, although I've known Imoen ever since she came to Candlekeep, and Coran's been all too willing to share the details of...certain aspects...of his history. What makes him think I'd want to know anyway? If I wasinterested in him, all he'd get is jealousy; as it is, he tends to receive a rousing wave of indifference. But I know little of the others. Which reminds me—I can't think why I didn't write this, but the two half-elves are Harpers. Back in Baldur's Gate, near the docks, we met an elderly mage. Entillis Fulsom introduced himself as a friend of Gorion's, and off-handedly mentioned that he was one of those who Harp. He seemed a decent sort, so I tried to be polite, and he said that I had "a special grace befitting my unique heritage."

I know that the Avariel are rare outside of their settlements, but I'm hardly unique. Besides, from what I've learned of the Aril'Tel'Quessir, they have a tendency to be xenophobic, arrogant, and condescending to the "land-bound races." "Special grace" indeed. I suppose he meant something else, then. As far as I know, I'm sarcastic, self-centered, and a bit on the paranoid side, but not exactly arrogant...not all the time, at least. Not that it matters, as when I get too pleased with myself, reality tends to beat me upside the head. It has a habit of doing that.

Here's hoping for no nightmares. Make that no dreams. Sleep is supposed to be relaxing, not a time for cryptic messages and things hiding in the dark.

* * *

_Kythorn 30 _

No nightmares, but something rather different. Xan and I shared a reverie. Certainly an unexpected change from his earlier behavior—that is, intentionally avoiding me. I have to say that I prefer this. I mean, I know that Xan is depressed and antisocial, but at first, it seemed he was actually trying to change that. But now...well, I'll see, I suppose. We should be back at Ulgoth's Beard in a few days, too. Hopefully, we'll finally be able to deliver that blasted dagger to Hurgan Stoneblade. I wonder if it's worth letting him know the price we paid for it.

No, that isn't fair. Even the "experienced" Ike didn't even know of the demonknight. I'd guess that Hurgan didn't either. I should just give him that dagger and be done with this mess. I wonder if it's worth billing him for spell components, though. We certainly used enough of them.

Ha. I crack myself up sometimes.

_

* * *

Flamerule 1_

Nothing eventful of late, though I suppose that that's a good thing. I'd take boredom over life-and-death battles any day. Flamerule's off to a good start, then.

Oh, actually, Jaheira's been teaching me to use a staff properly. She reminds me a bit of Jondalar—strict, but with their pupil's best interests at heart. I still remember when Jondalar got Obe to cast illusory arrows at me. I certainly was...more motivated...afterwards. At least Jaheira's willing to heal me. It's not that it's surprising, exactly, but most of my bruises are from my own mistakes. "Mistakes" in this case generally refers to "when I forgot to look down and tripped over something, falling spectacularly face-first into something."

* * *

_Flamerule 2_

Made it back to Ulgoth's Beard. A group of shabby-looking men ambushed us on the way to the inn and stole the dagger we were supposed to deliver. Irritating. I suppose that we should tell Hurgan about this.

_

* * *

Later_

Why do quest-givers never give out ALL the information? Is it some secret rule among quest-givers? "Rule #42 is by far the most important. 42a: ensure that one's lackeys are never fully informed. 42b: intentionally left blank. See above."

Or, how reputation among adventurers actually works: "Did not slay all eight displacer beasts, only found four. Would not contract again. Five points to be deducted from this adventuring group's rating."

It turns out that Hurgan's dagger, "Soultaker," was enspelled by Durlag himself to contain the soul of a powerful ta'anari. Hurgan's grandfather had died in the battle against the beast, and Durlag had intended to send the dagger to the Stoneblade clan to deal with the creature once and for all. But then came the mindflayer invasion, the doppelgangers, and Trollkiller's own descent into insanity. Thus the blade languished in the tower for years, until a group of those misguided fools more commonly known as 'adventurers' arrived. That is, us.

The malodorous group that attacked us was a group of cultists that worshiped the demon, Aec'Letec, as a god. Do all of the Sword Coast's religious fanatics have to have their brains removed? In any case, they stole Soultaker intending to restore the demon. Hurgan warned us that the demon must be stopped, lest it destroy the region—beginning, naturally, with us. A motivational statement if I ever heard one.

_And the rivers of the Sword Coast shall run red with blood..._ We'd best get going, preferably before Alaundo is vindicated. Here's hoping that all of us make it out alive this time.


	17. Flamerule 2 through 3

Starting off in first person, just to change things up a bit.

* * *

Oh, my poor head... Where was I again?  
Some inn. It was hard to tell—the interiors all look the same to me. Well, mostly. And my memory of...everything...was foggy. Very foggy indeed. I leaned out of my bed to pick up my journal, nearly falling headfirst onto the floor in the process.

I blinked several times, trying to focus on the tiny letters. Were they moving? When had my handwriting become so messy and...pink? Or was that just me?

No. No, it wasn't. I don't even have ink in that color. I used one of my strange healing abilities to reduce my headache and squinted at the latest entries in my journal.

The first was mine. _I can hardly believe it—we killed a demon! Or...no, it was a devil. I'll look it up later, I suppose. In any case, the ta'anari is dead, and—we did it! More importantly, everyone's still alive. I'm glad I didn't get a chance to sell those protection from petrification scrolls now. From the way Aec'Letec was glaring at us, I think that it should have done something to us. Well...better safe than sorry, I suppose. Also, I agreed to meet a hermit named Mendas later tomorrow—about noon—for details on a task he wants performed. I hope this won't end up being anything like Shandalar's quest. I've had enough of crazy people for the time being, thank you. Particularly after those cultists. Religious fanatics: illustrating why crazy people are dangerous too. Particularly when their devil "god" reincarnates in their bodies. Oh, I'd almost forgotten about that. We had to kill the ta'anari twice, because it took over a cultist's body. I wonder...why couldn't it take over one of our bodies? Not that I'm complaining, I'm just curious._

_Dear Diary_, the next entry read. _Pink is so pretty, isn't it? That's why I decided to start using it. It looks like Imoen was right again. She's way cleverer than I give her credit for, and she's a great thief, too. By Airdrie Fenya, I bet she could steal my diary if I wasn't careful._ I have never misspelled the name of my goddess. I most definitely did not write this. _Yep, Imoen's right about a lot of stuff, isn't she? I'm the diviner mage and all, but she's worldly. She knows how stuff works, cause she's been out there. I mean, she was even right about Xan and me looking cute together. Cute? Imoen, what on Toril were you thinking? I continued reading. __Maybe I should try showing her a couple spells—I bet she would pick them up really fast. _

Merciful Aerdrie Faenya...what happened last night? What would possess a (normally) reliable and trustworthy friend to steal my journal and write in it? And how much of this was true? Journal under one arm, I entered the common room, mentally bracing myself.

Imoen was several tables away, talking with Xan. "Talking at," really. The mage was making a point of ignoring her, but that wouldn't stop Imoen. I walked over and showed Imoen the offending journal entry. "Explanation. Now. Make it good."

* * *

_Flamerule 3 _

So... as it turns out, yesterday was eventful indeed. Hurgan Stoneblade was both astonished and appreciative that we'd managed to kill Aec'Letec. He was so appreciative, in fact, that he purchased drinks for all to celebrate. As it turned out...not a good idea. Kivan left quietly before the drinking started, and Xan spent most of the evening reading, as usual. Jaheira left early to look for work, and Khalid stayed behind to make sure it didn't get out of hand. Imoen sort of dragged me into the festivities, and for some reason she either couldn't or wouldn't explain, handed me a cup of Rashemi Firewine. She swears it was a joke, and that she doesn't remember much after that.

She proved more evasive about having written in my journal. The pink ink is apparently the result of a minor transmutation cantrip she found in her spellbook, the one she took from my would-be assassin at the Friendly Arm. Eventually she admitted that she'd probably had one too many drinks, because the idea seemed funny at the time. If she was drunk enough to think her idea would work, she should have been drunk enough to make stealthiness impossible. But I didn't notice her, because of her earlier trick. So...she subconsciously got me out of the way? On the one hand, that's ridiculous. On the other hand...only with Imoen would that sound even remotely reasonable.

The problems didn't stop there. Poor Coran is unusually reserved today. Imoen tested her color-changing cantrip on him. Although it could be worse for him—his hair is chartreuse rather than the shocking pink she used in my journal. This is far too entertaining for me to feel truly sorry for him. Maybe it'll curb his...habits...for a while.

I asked both Xan and Khalid if anything...happened. Fortunately, nothing did. That one entry of Imoen's was somewhat worrying, to say the least.

Jaheira discovered that an elderly hermit named Mendas wants a task completed. We're to meet him later today.

* * *

_Later _

Yes, he indeed has a quest. In oddly accented and definitely-not-Waterdhavian Common, he revealed that he wants us to steal a set of charts and sail to a tiny island in the middle of nowhere. I'm so conflicted...he's offering a quest involving petty thievery, just so he can have Balduran's logbook. For all I know, it could be another deathtrap. But...I'm curious. It's possible that no one's documented this island before, and who knows what it might hold?

Besides, I'm sure that there's scribes in Baldur's Gate who would be willing to trace a bunch of charts. The problem, then, is returning the charts...but that can be dealt with when it comes up.

Ye gods, I've just noticed. Imoen scribbled little hearts and flowers in my journal...all over the pages.


	18. Flamerule 4

A/N: Another massive update. And in other news...we haz romance? Sorta?

_

* * *

Flamerule 4 _

I handed a small pile of coins to the scribe. "Thank you."

He nodded and slipped them into a small pouch. "Business has been a mite slow of late, m'lady, an' this be much appreciated. Do ye mind if I be askin' what the copy job's for?"

Ah, why not? "We're adventurers," I said, shrugging. "It's part of some quest or other."

"Well, then, Tymora's own luck to ye," he said politely. "An' if it be involvin' those bandits, here's hopin' ye'll give their sorry tails a good kickin'."

"I'll see what I can do." I passed the original charts to Coran. He began walking back to the Counting House, his hood still up. Imoen hadn't been able to dispel her spell yet.

"Do you think it wise to trust the elf's skills again?" asked Jaheira.

"Well, it's too late now anyway. He's already gone."

"P-perhaps you should think ahead, Ildera," Khalid suggested. "It c-can't do any harm."

"I suppose not." Funny. Nearly a month after I'd met the two Harpers, Jaheira was still mothering me, and Khalid still tactfully offering advice.

"Don't take it too hard," Imoen whispered. "Ya know it's just her— repressed maternal instinct ."

"What? You'd better hope that she doesn't hear you."

The rogue grinned. "Nah, she can't."

"Another spell from Tarnesh's book?" Oh dear. How much had she learned of it? "Um...maybe I should try explaining some of the basics of magic. I'd hate for something to go wrong."

"Hey, I'm gettin' the hang of it. But I'll hold ya to that. Soon as we find a decent inn, 'kay?"

_Winged Mother preserve me_... "I'll try, I guess," I said hesitantly.

"So ya can take a hint!" she exclaimed. "Oh—uh, ya weren't supposed ta hear that."

Where's a Summon Villain's Exposition spell when you need one? Ah, circles within circles...or just Imoen being Imoen.

* * *

  
_Evening _

Jaheira nudged me. "It is your turn on watch," the druid said, before walking back to her own bedroll.

My turn already? Naturally, as I still wasn't used to being woken in the middle of the night. Someday I'd have to get the hang of reverie. I unstoppered my waterskin and splashed the water over my face, trying to wake myself up. Gods, it was cold. At least the night was warm.

I walked a short distance from the camp and flew to the top branches of an oak tree. It was far more comfortable up there. I leaned back against the thick boughs, staring down at the others. Imoen, Coran, Khalid, and Jaheira were all asleep, and Xan was nowhere to be seen—again.

I glided down from my perch to where Kivan sat, fletching arrows. Did he never sleep? "Can you watch for a bit?" I asked. He nodded silently. "Thank you."

"You are welcome," the ranger said, finally looking up.

Strange. I'd expected another nod, at best. Kivan was good at what he did—there was no doubt about that. But he rarely spoke unless it was absolutely necessary.

I wandered through the trees, keeping an eye out. Simply walking through the forest was...calming. I almost felt that I could relax in this. I don't know how long I walked for, but eventually I noticed a patch of purple amidst the carpet of leaves.

I watched Xan's eyes go from half-open and unfocused to wide with shock and horror. A nightmare? Reliving some unpleasant memory, more like. The elf started as I touched his shoulder.

"Ildera." The elf's tone was cold. "What are you doing here?"

Oh, if _that_ was the reaction I got... "Looking for you, actually. Do you mind explaining why you feel the need to avoid everyone else?"

"I do not wish to disturb you. My reveries are...unpleasant, to say the least. Now, if you will excuse me--"

I caught Xan's sleeve as he stood to leave. "Not so fast. It's more than that, isn't it?" Studying divination magic does have its uses, even if all I could sense was an evasion. "And I can tell if you lie about it." Well...perhaps. In theory, certainly; I might be able to detect an outright lie, at least.

"As you wish, my leader." Xan sighed heavily. "I rarely reverie these nights. What is the point, when all I dream of is my time in Mulahey's care?"

Well, you could have told someone. I'd imagine that Kivan knows what it's like to return to an unpleasant memory in reverie. Jaheira has all manner of herbal concoctions, Imoen is always willing to talk, Khalid listens well, and even Coran might be able to help...somehow. "So these dreams are the problem? What are they of?"

"Death, of course." He sighed again. "It is always some companion or other. Coran, hanged by the Fist for thieving; Kivan, cut down by bandits in his misguided quest for revenge..."

Gods, what an imagination the elf had. If I somehow became an evil overlord in need of inspiration, I'd need to look no further than his paranoid thoughts. "But that isn't all, is it? What else?"

"Why do you insist on this interrogation? What will it do, apart from hasten our inevitable doom?"

"I don't see what our doom has to do with a few simple questions. Why are you being so evasive?" The Leirans revere unsolvable mysteries. I hate them. "Besides, they say that misery loves company."

"Meaning that, as we are both doomed, I should seek your company? I think not."

Hmm...patience, and possibly a result, or a snarky response and nothing? A difficult choice. "That didn't come out as I'd intended. I'm...sorry." Apologizing is sometimes...hard for me. "If you want to talk, I'll listen." Note to self: learn Life Lesson #132, more commonly known as How To (Safely) Swallow One's Pride. "You've been avoiding me like the plague for two weeks now. Just—talk to me. Please." Addendum to note to self: learn above lesson as soon as it becomes feasible. That was...not fun. At least no one could accuse me of a lack of effort. But was that my goal—to feel better about myself? Or were my intentions truly as pure as I thought? I realized that Xan had been talking and tried to concentrate.

"All these years, I have traveled alone, with only myself to think of," he continued. "My own fate is sealed, but I fear that yours is as well, now."

Mine, or everyone else's? Which did he find more important? "Whether or not that's true, I hardly think that you've been a factor. In fact, you've tried to help me." On occasion. When you weren't busy pretending I didn't exist, and jumping every time I said something. And, according to Imoen...watching me. Frequently.

"That is not the point," he replied stiffly.

"Then what is it? I've already said that I'm willing to listen." This was becoming ridiculous.

"I had not wanted to doom you as well, if you must know. Do you know what happens to a moonblade wielder after their death? No, I suppose not. When a wielder dies, their spirit augments the blade they once held. They are trapped, until the blade's magic is extinguished. Only Corellon Larethian himself may do this."

"Let me guess. You don't think that it would ever happen." Because you're doomed—rather, because you think so. "So you try to avoid befriending anyone, because you don't want them to miss you."

The elf shrugged. "How you phrase it is your own affair, not mine. But essentially...I suppose you are correct."

"Hasn't it occurred to you that most of us can make our own decisions? You're denying yourself all the little things that make life worth living—friendship, hope, and happiness, for a start. Why, we are all doomed , so what is the point ? Implausible as it sounds, maybe it's worth it simply to live, no matter what will happen?" I paused. "Or, perhaps...we are not doomed?"

"Ildera." Xan shook his head. "You sound so young and naïve... Life is a fragile thing. A loose brick, a stray arrow, and it is gone. And I...I would not want this."

I...

Well. Clearly, we'd gone a long way from discussing nightmares and antisocial tendencies. "As you never fail to remind me, we are doomed, myself included. Why should this be so difficult to realize?" Unless...no. Not Xan. That seemed almost as unlikely as Kivan and Coran declaring their undying love for one another. The difference being, that could be entertaining—so long as it remains hypothetical—while this... Was it real?

Instead of answering, Xan took my hand in both of his. "These weeks...I have grown to admire you," he began, seemingly addressing my palm. "As a leader, certainly, but also as a friend, and perhaps..." He stopped abruptly. "No, this is not what I had intended to say. As always, I have glass beads when I need diamonds." He paused again, and swallowed. "Ildera...is it possible for you to survive without my services?"

"What? If this is another attempt to make me go away, forget it. Do you want to leave?"

"That is my intent, yes."

"So you'd abandon me to certain doom, rather than the possibility of it. Do you run from everything like this, or is it just your friends and emotions that warrant this cowardice, _Enchanter_?" I regretted those words almost before I finished speaking. "I'm sorry." It seemed easier to say this time. "Forget I said that. Let's start over. You've been speaking in riddles for...however long we've been talking. What is it, really?"

Xan released my hand and leaned back against a tree, shoulders slumped. "For the past few weeks, I have been forcing myself to go on. I know that we are doomed, but...so long as you survived, it did not seem so important. I will still aid you where I can...but I cannot stay. Not knowing that, one day, you will witness my death, or I yours, and that even in the afterlife I would not see you for centuries to come."

"You've known this from the start, Xan. I'm doomed, you're doomed, and the Iron Throne will crush us all. What's changed?" I moved closer and looked up at him. "I think I deserve an answer now."

"I cannot believe that you are both blind and deaf." He sighed heavily. "But however sad and sorry this is...no, I will not malign it. I...feel for you, Ildera...affection, attraction...love. But it will not end well. It cannot."

I'd always thought that it was a figure of speech, but no, my mind really was spinning. Xan...and me? "So...you... Gods, I'd never _considered_ this. If you still want to leave, then you can forget it. Not after this." But...what about me? What did I feel? Truth be told, I simply didn't know.

"You...do not understand. If—this continues, you will only be hurt. You are capable and strong; you have a chance, yet. Should you survive the Iron Throne, you could live a normal life, while I will undertake another mission—assuming that my blade has not claimed me already. When I die...there will be nothing, unless you'd like to keep the moonblade as a memento of sorts."

"Whereas if you leave...you are even more likely to die, as am I—if I lose your help, that is."

"Ildera...that is unfair."

"I suppose so," I admitted. "But it did get you to respond. What is it? Go or stay?"

Xan looked as though he would have liked to vanish. A good thing I'd claimed the Invisibility scroll, then. "I...shall stay," he said finally.

I smiled. "Then as a party leader, I thank you. And as for the other...I think...I need some time."


	19. Flamerue 5 through 8

A/N: Finally caught on updates for now

_

* * *

Flamerule 5 _

"Here, Mendas. The sea charts, as you requested." Irritably, I thrust the rolled-up maps into his waiting hands.

_May we go now, teacher?_ For some reason, the man reminded me of Ulraunt—always telling me to do this chore or fetch that book, never bothering to explain why, and all the while assuming that I'd obey his orders to the letter. Annoying, that. I had thought that one of the few benefits to leaving Candlekeep would be the lack of any Ulraunts, but clearly I was wrong. They exist in many guises, but there are two they favor. First, there is the quest-giver, who delights in sending adventurers on pointless jaunts through oft-fatal dungeons and deathtraps. The other common form is the bureaucrat. As Commander Scar would no doubt attest, they enjoy watching petitioners struggle to so much as fill out a form as regulations are continually being updated—another way of saying that they deliberately change and add rules as often as possible. I wondered which version Mendas was.

"Most excellent, this is." The hermit grinned. "Come back...night? Ship will be here, and please to be on time. Now out, out! I be having things to do." He shooed us outside and slammed the door, smiling all the while.

"Where'd the ol' nose-in-a-book learn his Common, anyway?" Imoen wondered as we walked back to the inn.

Jaheira frowned. "A good question. His accent is not one I recognize."

"Jaheira doesn't know somethin'?" Imoen mock-gasped.

"I am sure your sarcasm is amusing, but I fail to see the humor," the druid said, rolling her eyes. "In any case, perhaps we should find out more on this scholar." Khalid's answer was too quiet for me to hear, and the Harpers fell back to talk.

Back at the inn, Imoen accosted me before I could vanish. "Heya, sis. Mind showin' me some of what ya were talkin' about?"

Er...bad timing, Imoen. "I'm sorry, but for some reason I can't concentrate now. Another time?"

"Course! I'm patient!"

"I'm not so sure about that, but thanks, Imoen." She was so...considerate, sometimes. It's good to know that someone is willing to be patient with you, no matter what. I handed several coins to the innkeeper for a room and headed upstairs. I'd been lax about writing in my journal lately; maybe that would help.  


* * *

  
_Flamerule 5, Evening _

Poor Kivan. I didn't realize how long I'd spent talking, so he stayed up quite a while—not that he sleeps or reveries much anyway. Coran has this annoyingly smug expression of late—partly because Imoen finally figured out a minor dispelling cantrip, but it's also an "I was right all along" sort of thing. He can be so obnoxious when he sets his mind to it. In his defense, he managed the chart-stealing and replacing...not that makes him any less irritating.

Jaheira's annoyed with me, for my "lack of foresight." I should have planned the thieving out from the start, and mapped out every conceiveable detail before attempting anything. I should know better than to accept quests from strangers, particularly if the quests involve thievery. On the other hand, I shouldn't even consider abandoning a quest. And furthermore , I should ensure that other party members know where I've gone, should I decide to wander off in the night. I don't think that she would have taken kindly to being woken up.

It's ridiculous. The druid treats me like a child. When will I stop being "Gorion's ward" and start being...me? All I can do is wait and hope, I suppose. For the time being, this is incredibly annoying, and I'm fed up with her constant lecturing.

Speaking of hope, we're off to Balduran's Isle tomorrow. History, adventure, and sailing to gods-know-where.

I wonder if Avariel get seasick.  


* * *

_Flamerule 6 _

"This to be your ship-home to the island," Mendas explained, gesturing at a vessel considerably larger than the others at the docks.

A...ship-home? "Anything we should know?"

The historian shook his head vigorously. "Nothing but what captain tells you," he replied. "This Saemon Havarian."

Our captain-to-be removed his large, wide-brimmed hat and bowed with an elegant flourish. "Charmed, I'm sure. Now, shall we be off?"

* * *

_Later _

I hated sailing, I decided. It wasn't the atmosphere, exactly; I wasn't particularly bothered by the sailors' language or...fragrance, either. It was Saemon. He seemed to appear whenever I made the mistake of thinking of him.

...like now. "So," he said, grinning as ususal. "I see you prefer the crossbow—up for a bit of sparring practice later? Or would you prefer some sparring practice?" He winked. "I am, of course, both a lover and a fighter."

Merciful Seldarine, even Coran hadn't tried quite like_that_. He'd propositioned me a few times in several...odd...ways, before finally giving up. I think my offer to hex him might have been a part of that. That, and what I suggested he do with those flowers. Not that I actually _knew_ any curses, but he didn't knew that. I wondered if it would work on Saemon. Unfortunately, threatening the ship's captain would probably be a bad move. "No, I use a crossbow for a reason. I don't have to get my hands dirty. The last time I tried to use a sword, it was horrible. I...I chipped a nail." I sniffed. "And it was so _heavy_, and I wouldn't want to get all those nasty calluses on my hands..."

"I understand completely, madam."

Time to unnerve him. "Actually, I've discovered a foolproof way to keep my skin soft."

The captain picked up my left hand and stroked my palm. "So I see. Care to share?"

"Blood. Once you can get the color out, there's nothing better."

He blinked. "I—beg your pardon?"

"Didn't you know? I'm part vampire. My father was a half-vampire half-demon, my mother was a half-dragon dark elf, and my real name is Maerisuu."

"Ah...truly, fascinating, m'lady." Saemon was slowly backing away. "Now if you'll excuse me, the, ah, rigging needs tightening belowdecks."

A point for me. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the ship's railing. Salty sea winds blowing past me, a clear blue sky, and the midday sun bright on the waves...I could get used to this.  


* * *

  
_Flamerule 8 _

"What do you _mean_, your men are mutinying?" I shouted.

Saemon cringed. "The storms and the monsters have them out of sorts." He grinned. "That, and your thief cheating them in any game they play."

Gods, was he capable of taking _anything _seriously? Clearly not.

"No harm intended," Coran said, sounding rather sheepish. "Ah, they just don't know how to play. Tell them I'll think of them when I spend their gold on wine and women."

"Silence, elf," Jaheira snapped. "Do you lack as much control over them as you do yourself?"

So he'd tried to proposition her as well. I'd give a lot to have seen that.

"No harm done, friends," Saemon tried. "We've nearly found land, and the navigator swears it's this island of yours."

"Before the mutiny, you mean. For the record, we aren't your friends." I loaded and cocked my crossbow. "Although we'd much appreciate it if you went and talked to them."

The captain's gaze flickered from my crossbow to my face and back again, as if he was trying to determine whether or not I was serious. "You know...I'm afraid I lied to you, Ildera. I'm a lover, not a fighter." He chanted a brief spell.

Dimension door. "Damn you, Havarian. Get back here and clean up your mess."

"Sorry, no can do," he replied, grinning, and disappeared entirely.


	20. Flamerule 9

_Flamerule 9 _

On the bright side, no more sailors or mutiny. However...I'd prefer a known danger to a complete unknown. At the moment, we're in the middle of nowhere. Lovely. And I need to re-string my crossbow, which generally takes several hours. Assuming I can find a way to make the thing flex enough to manage, and that my spare strings aren't ruined as well.

I have no idea where we are. It might be Balduran's Isle. It also might be "The Iflande Where There Be Naftie Creaturef Of The Deadlieft Fort," originally discovered in an era where the letter "s" was scarce and "e" and "f" were plentiful.

At the moment, our options are rather limited. I could try scouting, but the fog is so thick at the moment that it's unlikely I'd see anything. Or... I could try a divination. I have no idea if I'd be able to get a result, though. I suppose it's worth a try. It's certainly a better idea than sitting around and doing nothing.

It does seem the only option at present. But no pressure, of course. And I'm Elminster's sister.

* * *

For what seemed the thousandth time, I smoothed out my parchment and re-arranged my spell components. Nearly a thousand gold worth of assorted crystals and mineral dusts, among other things, and I was about to use all of it on the mere possibility that it would help.

I seated myself cross-legged on the grassy hill and closed my eyes. Inhaling deeply, I mentally drew the first rune. A straight upstroke, a diagonal downstroke, and a rhombus in the center. The second was three curves in a rough circle; the third, an oval with a dot above and below. The last was a simple eye, and as I drew it, I visualized the land before me.

It was an island, of middling size. Several underground caverns opened to the coast in the northeast, where I could see two puzzling structures, apparently made of wood. I shrugged mentally and peered at a small cloud in the southwest. No, not a cloud—smoke. As they say, where there's smoke, there's fire, and with this spell, I'd be able to see a large, out-of-control forest fire, so...

Civilization? I hoped so. Or perhaps only a very small forest fire.

We'd apparently washed up on the island's south-eastern coast, so it should be only a short ways to the source f this mysterious smoke.

Perhaps more confusing still were the patterns of movement, dark swarms moving amidst the trees. It had to be a pack of something. I wished that I could look more closely. We'd have to be careful, at any rate.

I tried to look closer, only to find my view blocked by a set of large, oddly shaped black blobs. I squinted, trying to focus...

_We do not have imagery available at this resolution._


	21. Flamerule 10

**A/N:** Updates on this site will be sporadic at best, as I have no idea if anyone is actually interested in following this and thus little motivation to update._

* * *

Flamerule 10 _

The first things I noticed in the small village were the guards, thickly built men with crossbows strapped to their backs. Ah, another potential...issue. One wrong move, and this mad quest would be over practically before it started.

One of them stopped us before we passed the gate he guarded. "Who goes there?" he grunted.

Frankly, I'd be worried if he did know us. "Who's asking?"

The guard glared at me. "Kas, third sentry of the border," he finally answered. "If you are new to this isle, you must speak with Kaishas." He pointed to one of the roughly built wooden houses beyond the gate.

I wanted to ask who Kaishas was, but Kas was looking rather irritable. Discretion's the better part of valor, they say. All in good time.

* * *

_Later _

Kaishas Gan seemed normal enough—for a quest-giver, I hasten to add. After trying several times to evade the simple question "what do we have to fight?", she sent us off to the north of the isle to fight them anyway. Joy. Jaheira thinks they might be wolfweres or werewolves, so time to fight melee again. Winged Mother, does no one sell enchanted bolts?

Oh, and she offered us cookies. Belladonna cookies, at that. I don't know whether to be amused or terrified.

Apparently the village's lorekeeper/sage/whatever-he-is might have some information on these monsters, so we're off. Again. In the morning.

Errand quests, mine bread and bane...how I loathe thee.

* * *

_Nighttime _

That night, I dreamed.

_A crystalline pool before me, its surface perfectly reflecting the darkened clouds. I looked closer... A dream within a dream? Within the pool, the clouds stirred and vanished. _

_Wings of fire, suspended in the darkness... A voice, resonating throughout a vast and empty cavern, amidst the sound of a weeping woman. _

_Ash spiraling about me, swirling in the wind. Beneath me, a plume of smoke; all about, a reek of something burnt and rotting... I hover in the center of it all, waiting, watching...but for what, I know not. _

_Three oak trees, alive and well far below the earth. As I watched, a delicate face emerged from each tree, and twig-like hands of bark reached out, grasping for...something. Ethereal voices begged for help. _

_A grinning skull, one half splashed dark red, the other bleached white, a jagged crack running between the two. The red spilled over the crack, drowning the skull in a river of blood... _

_Dark earth below, dark sky above, rain pouring down... Hands like talons reach out from an open grave, belonging to a thing long dead, now pale as ice... Reaching, grasping, clawing blindly...but at me, coming ever closer... _

_A strange laughter, echoing from the darkness. But...different...this time, it must be. My face was soaked with tears and rain as another's hand grew colder in my own. _

I nearly jumped out of my bedroll as I felt a light touch on my shoulder. "Ildera?" It was Kivan. "You were thrashing, so I thought to wake you. Are you well?"

Define "well." I shrugged. "Strange dreams. I've had them before."

" "Strange" dreams should not leave you weeping," the ranger muttered. He knelt, then seated himself next to me. "I will listen, if you desire."

If anyone could keep a secret, it was he. Haltingly, I began to relate my strange visions._  
_


End file.
